


Fragments Born of Pain

by Evil_Little_Dog



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, Canon: Fullmetal Alchemist Manga, Community: fmabigbang, F/M, Illnesses, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:58:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  The discovery of a transmutation circle in an ancient city leads to problems for Edward and Alphonse that no one would’ve ever suspected.<br/>DIsclaimer:  Arakawa is completely the owner of this universe. This story is a derivative work, and as such, I make no money from it. Drat it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Arielf for providing the work that inspired this piece. Also, thanks to Cornerofmadness for her assists in editing, and other stuff.

**Prologue**  
 _The past is still, for us, a place that is not safely settled_.  
 **Michael Ondaatje**

Alphonse was accustomed to the sunlight back home, in Risembool, but here, in the high altitude hills at the borders of Xing and the Eastern Desert and Ishbal, the light seemed different. Diffuse, from the rarified air, maybe. Wiping his forehead on the back of his arm, he glanced up at the sun. He still had a few hours yet before he had to get back to Balaghat. The Ishbalans refused to sleep in the ancient, unnamed city here in the mountain, and Alphonse understood why. It wasn’t because of the threat of ghosts, but, having been abandoned for what appeared to be centuries, it would be dangerous to be in it at night. He’d sprung enough traps to realize whomever had created this city had left it to protect itself from intruders. The overgrowth from the jungle made it even harder to navigate the streets, much less avoid the traps. 

“Mr. Alphonse!” 

He turned at the sound of his name, waving his hand spade at the girl trotting toward him, a jug of water cradled in his hands. “Careful, Nesrah! Make sure to follow the path I cut out of the brush.” 

She nodded, slowing her headlong pace and picking her way more slowly. Nesrah had been one of the children to locate the city; she and her siblings playing higher up in the foothills than the adults generally went, following the sheep and goats the Ishbalans raised. They’d been the ones who’d led the children into the city, and the children, in turn, led Alphonse and some of the other adults here. The Ishbalans decided they didn’t need to know more about the city, though there were no taboos to keep Alphonse, or the goats and sheep, and their shepherds, from exploring it. 

Nesrah placed her bare feet carefully as she climbed up the stone steps, the rise much higher than comfortable even for an adult, to reach Alphonse. Handing him the jug, she turned, sitting down on a broken slab of granite and swinging her legs. She didn’t seem to realize how high up she was sitting, nor how far down the fall would be if she slipped. Alphonse kept his mouth closed. The children had been playing here for more years than he’d had his real body back. When he’d asked if any of them were afraid, they’d given him the same blank stares he was sure he and Ed had given adults asking the same stupid question when they were kids. 

Taking a drink from the jug, Alphonse let out a sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until he actually smelled the sweet, cool water. “Thank you, Nesrah.” 

She dimpled, her ruby eyes squinting half-closed in her pleasure. “You’re welcome, Mr. Alphonse! Did you find anything new today?” 

He took another drink and set the jug down, careful to make sure the rounded bottom was settled into a niche to keep the water from spilling out. The sandy desert made its own table, and the round-bottom jugs dug into the sand to remain upright. Here, in the highlands, amidst the rock and green growing things, the round-bottom jugs weren’t quite as practical. “A few beads,” he reached for the leather pouch he used to store the treasures he’d found. “Look.” Pulling out a golden bead, he passed it to Nesrah. 

She let out an appreciative gasp, turning the bead over in her fingers. “It looks like a long-necked goat!” 

“I think it’s a llama,” Alphonse told Nesrah as she handed the bead back. “They’re kind of like camels, I think, or maybe sheep.” He shrugged, he hadn’t really studied what sort of genus the llama were when he’d seen his first one, instead he’d been more amazed at how well they spit. Juggling the two additional beads, Alphonse offered them to Nesrah. One was a pendant, carved out of a blue stone shot with sparkles of gold pyrite. A baleful face glared out of either side. The pendant was different on each side, not quite mirror images; the other a cylindrical bead of gold, a tube with two indentations on either end. Nesrah studied them and returned them, and Alphonse dumped them carefully in the pouch again. 

“What else do you think you’ll find, Mr. Alphonse?” Nesrah asked, practically dancing in place in her enthusiasm.

“I don’t know, Nesrah,” Alphonse had to say. “Maybe something totally amazing. Maybe just some more of these beads.” 

Nesrah tucked her forefinger into the corner of her mouth, a scowl marring her forehead. Suddenly, she brightened, grabbing Alphonse’s wrist with her damp hand. “I can show you something! Get up, Mr. Alphonse!” 

Groaning, Alphonse got to his feet, staggering for a second as the blood rushed back down to his lower extremities. “All right,” he said, “but remember, Nesrah, we need to be careful.” 

“Mm!” She kept hold of him, though her hand slid down to clasp his as she led him along. Surefooted as one of the animals she might have shepherded around this site, she led him along down a narrow path between two large walls, one of natural stone, the other obviously built by human hands. Nesrah didn’t give Alphonse time to marvel, tugging at him whenever he tried to stop and look at something. “Come quickly, Mr. Alphonse, or you won’t see!” 

He glanced skyward. The sun’s light had gone ruddy and the bowl of sky overhead changed from the clear blue of the day to more indigo and violet tones, indicating that dusk approached. They needed to leave the mountain soon or risk being stuck in the dead city overnight. “Where are you taking me, Nesrah?”

“Not much further,” she promised, giving him a bright grin and pointing toward the top of a hill. Scampering up it much like the goats she’d herded, she led a slower Alphonse to the top of the rise, standing on what had to be a man-made mound – he wasn’t sure just how he knew, but maybe Mei’s attempts to teach him about the Dragon’s Pulse had paid off in some way. 

Blowing as he reached the top of the rise, Alphonse stopped to mop his forehead. The air was definitely thinner up here. It took a few seconds for him to catch his breath. Beside him, Nesrah danced from one foot to the other. “Look!”

Alphonse straightened, pressing his hands into the small of his back. As he followed Nesrah’s pointing finger, all the little nagging pains disappeared, and he sucked in a deep breath. “Nesrah,” he whispered, putting his hand on her head to try to get her to stay still. He wanted to drink it down, the sight in front of him, of a figure carved from stone. “Dad,” he whispered, eyes wide. 

“What?” 

“Shh, Nesrah.” Eyes raking over the figure, Alphonse decided it wasn’t really his father; the nose was even longer than Dad’s had been and the eyes were decidedly more narrow. His cheekbones were higher, too, and his chin weaker. Still, there was a resemblance, something that told Alphonse that the carving was of a Xerxian man. And, in relief above his head, a transmutation circle, and symbols Alphonse had only seen once before. 

“Oh, wow,” he whispered. “Brother really needs to see this.” Grinning down at Nesrah, he said, “Thank you. Thank you for showing me this. Now,” he glanced toward the sky, “we really need to get off this mountain.” 

X X X


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One**   
_It’s not what you find, it’s what you find out._   
**David Hurst Thoma**

Edward would never willingly say he’d gotten used to Rush Valley, but it had definitely become accustomed to him and his idiosyncrasies. One of those included his reading habits – definitely peculiar, as Edward had a tendency to walk through Rush Valley with his nose in a book, somehow managing to avoid crashing into inanimate objects (people, horses and dogs were fair game, though, and got a mumbled apology that, while it didn’t necessarily seem heartfelt, did a lot to smooth his way as the eccentric scholar in the community). 

He did the same when letters arrived addressed to him, giving them his full and utter attention as he walked through the streets, somehow managing to adroitly dodge venders and children running around him, some of them sporting automail, some not. If Edward caught wind of some delicious smell, he might stop and absently buy whatever food was being sold, but most of the times, he would wander from the post office back to the Rockbell Automail workshop, with the apartment he shared with his wife taking up the second and third floors. He’d walk through the shop, nodding absently at the customers, remember to say ‘hey’ to Winry, and head off either to the back courtyard – off limits to everyone but family and friends – or upstairs, depending on the weather. 

Despite the fact that heat rose, and everyone in Rush Valley knew it, the apartment was usually cool in hot weather, what with Edward paying to install one of the new air coolers in the building. Winry had tinkered with it, making it even more efficient, and it kept the entire building at a good, even temperature during the hottest weather. Winry liked wood burning stoves – they reminded her of the fireplace back in Risembool – so Edward had paid for some top of the line soapstone stoves to heat the building. The thick walls helped keep the building both cool and warm, a typical Rush Valley design that Edward approved of, albeit grudgingly. All in all, their home was comfortable, despite being atop a smelly machine shop, and a good place for Edward to get his own work done – research, mostly; Xingese alkahestry, history, alchemy, Xerxesian studies. 

The letter from Xing was a thick packet, the wax seal on the back scrubbed, but Edward was still able to spot the design Alphonse had designed for his personal ‘chop’ – some sort of Xingese thing that he’d never been able to really explain; or maybe Edward just wasn’t paying close enough attention – the flamel they’d both worn while traveling around Amestris. Edward would’ve recognized his brother’s handwriting regardless of the seal; Alphonse’s hand was fluid, and delicate, with perfect loops, while Edward’s handwriting remained scratchy, even though he now had his dominant hand back to write with. When he printed, it was clear, and Edward usually printed when doing research or notations, but writing letters was something else entirely. Winry had complained cheerfully that reading one of his letters was like trying to decipher an alchemy journal written in Cretan. Edward took that as a compliment, even though he knew she’d been teasing him. Alphonse’s letters, though, could easily be read, even if he and Edward did write in code to each other, both to keep their hands in and also to protect some of the more sensitive information they exchanged. 

This was not a coded letter, though Edward wondered if maybe Alphonse should’ve sent it that way. Then again, the letter would’ve been even longer than the eight pages it already was – pages of notes as well as sketches, and Alphonse’s very excited ramblings. Edward grabbed a notepad of his own, taking it with him outside to the courtyard. A cat sunned itself on the table there, and Edward grumbled at it. Mrs. Lancaster’s stupid cat jumped the walls and pooped and pissed in the flowers, and he hadn’t figured out a way to keep the cat out of the courtyard yet. “Get out of here,” he said, waving at the big yellow tom, who glared back, the tip of his tail twitching. Setting down the letter and notepad, Edward picked up the cat – difficult, at best, as the tom seemed boneless and liquid when he carried it to the wall, and, standing on his toes, dropped the cat over the wall and onto the bench he knew was there, and helped the stupid cat get over the wall in the first place. Knowing the cat would be flipping him off with his tail didn’t endear the animal to Edward any more than him using his courtyard for his personal toilet, and he reminded himself he needed to talk to Mrs. Lancaster, again. Or maybe Winry and he should just break down and get a dog. A couple of yappy puppy attacks would probably keep the cat out of the courtyard, if Mrs. Lancaster couldn’t. 

Heading back to the table, Edward settled in, tucking his pen between his teeth as he began reading again. Thoughts of the cat left his mind as he began dissecting each page of the letter, including the drawings. His focus trained on the words and illustrations, Edward didn’t notice when Winry came outside, pulling out the chair across from his and sitting down. 

“Ed?”

He blinked at the sound of his name, somewhat startled and looking around defensively. “Winry!” His shoulders ached, and eyestrain made itself known now that he looked away from the pages. How long had he been sitting here? Glancing around with a wince at the pull of his muscles, Edward spotted the sun, farther to the west than it had been, obviously hours ago. Now that his attention was off the letter, his stomach growled, loud enough for him to hear it. 

“Must be a good letter.” Winry laid her elbows on the table, crossing her arms. “You’ve been out here about four hours.” 

“Al,” Edward said, gesturing with the pen. “He found out about something out in the desert.” 

Cocking her head, Winry asked, “What kind of something?”

Edward turned the pages to her. “It looks like an ancient city.” As Winry picked up the pages and began skimming through them, he went on. “It’s really on the border of Xing and the Eastern Desert, a mountain in the foothills. I guess the Ishbalans could claim it if they wanted to, but.” He shrugged, tapping the notepad covered in script. 

“Al thinks the city’s really ancient.” Winry peered at Edward over the pages.

“Yeah.” Edward grinned. 

“Is there something older than Xerxes?” Winry studied one of the illustrations Alphonse had drawn. 

“Hey, Xing’s old.” 

She glanced up again, her eyebrows cocking up. 

“A lot older than Amestris, at least.” 

“Yeah.” Winry finished her cursory look at the letter, fanning the loose pages to raise a breeze before setting them down to reach for Edward’s notepad. “What’s this?” 

The back of his neck heated up as Edward rubbed it. With a sheepish grin, he said, “Something’s not adding up.” 

“Hmm?” Winry flipped through the pad. “What do you mean?” 

Edward leaned across the table, taking the notepad and letter back. “There’s something about this place. Yeah, it’s covered in underbrush now, but look at this.” Scooting his chair around, he turned to a page in his notepad. “This is part of an ancient alchemy transmutation circle. I found documentation of this circle in a book in an old Western library. I’d never seen this kind of circle before. The book was ancient, I mean, so old, I wasn’t even allowed to touch it personally; a woman with gloves had to turn the pages for me.” Edward rolled his eyes at that, though a part of him understood how fragile the book was. “I couldn’t read it. She couldn’t even tell me what language it was in, just that a local alchemist had donated everything in his collection when he died, and the book was part of it. I copied a lot of it, at least the illustrations, but the language.” Shaking his head, Edward frowned in remembrance of how frustrating it had been, not being able to read the book. 

“And?” Winry prompted. 

“Sorry.” Edward tapped his pen on the transmutation circle again. “I’d only ever seen this circle there, in that book, but look.” Finding the right page of Alphonse’s letter, Edward set it next to his notepad. “They’re the same.” 

Winry nodded slowly, turning to Edward. “But what kind of circle is it?” 

Letting a slow hiss of air out between his teeth, Edward said, “I don’t know. And neither does Al.”

“Does he know about the one in the book?” Winry picked up the notepad again, even though alchemy still didn’t mean much to her. 

“Yeah,” Edward nodded, “I sent it to him a while back.” He didn’t say he’d sent it encrypted, over three separate letters, not wanting someone else to see the circle and try to use it. At least until they’d figured out what the hell it was for. “We’ve been doing some research into it, but.” He shrugged, spreading his hands. 

Winry laid the pad down again, turning to face Edward more fully. “So…Al’s asking for you.” 

Edward nodded, his mouth twitching. 

“You want to go.” It wasn’t a question. 

“You have your master’s test.” It was coming up soon, too; only a couple of weeks away. 

Winry shrugged, a twinkle in her eyes. “If you’re not here, I can get more work done.” 

“Are you saying I’m a distraction?” Edward asked, arching his brows. Leaning back in his chair, he shifted his weight, all but posing for her.

Snorting, Winry said, “No, you’re always in my way and whining for something. ‘Winry, I want lunch. Come and rub my back.’” Her voice took on his deeper, brash tones, not a bad imitation, really. “‘I’ve got something you can polish.’” 

It was Edward’s turn to snort. “I don’t sound like that,” he said, wondering if she’d laugh. She did, a bright chuckle that made Edward smile and lean toward her in response, blowing his pose. Reaching over, he took one of her hands. He rubbed his thumb over the familiar calluses on the inside of her palm. Winry grinned, tugging her hand reflexively – how her palm could be ticklish sometimes always amazed Edward. “I want to go to Balaghat.” At Winry’s knowing grin, he protested. “What can I say? I’m curious.” 

“Okay.” Winry leaned over and kissed him. “Just don’t rush right out to the next train, okay? I’ve got supper cooking.” 

Edward kissed her back, a bit more forcefully, letting go of her hand to lay his on her knees. “I’m not going anywhere today.” 

“Good.” Her smile bloomed as she nuzzled his cheek. “I’d like a chance to say ‘goodbye’ properly, after all.” 

“Mm, can’t wait,” Edward murmured, sliding his palm up her thigh. 

Winry wagged a finger at him. “Ah, ah, ah. I’ve got some work to finish up, and then dinner. Dessert has to wait.” 

Groaning, Edward leaned back in his chair, shifting his weight to adjust for the pressure his trousers put on his half-masted erection. “Fine, fine. You go get your work done and I’ll,” he glanced toward the third floor of their home, “I’ll go pack.” 

With a laugh, Winry got to her feet. She stroked his cheek with the back of her fingers, her skin cool and perfumed with the smell of steel and the lightweight machine oil she used to maintain automail. No polish today. Edward preferred the way she smelled right out of a shower, floral and warm, but he couldn’t say that this scent, mixed with that particular essence that made up Winry, couldn’t arouse him, too. He nipped at the webbing between her thumb and first finger, letting go with a wicked grin. “I have work, Ed,” Winry scolded, though the heat in her eyes let him know she was more than willing. 

“Then go work.” Edward pushed at her lightly. “You said ‘dessert later’.” 

“You brat.” Her hip cocked, arms coming up to cross under her breasts, and shove them up – intentionally or not, it definitely caught Edward’s attention. 

Snickering, Edward got up, too, giving her a kiss on the cheek. He grabbed the letter and his notepad. “Back to work,” he told her, guiding Winry to the house, thinking he really needed something to drink before he started packing. 

Maybe even something stronger than coffee.

X X X 

The train whistle blasted a warning, the engine hissing in preparation to leaving the station. “All aboard!” the conductor shouted, his hands cupped around his mouth. 

Edward glanced over his shoulder at the passenger car, then back at Winry. “It’s time.” 

“I know.” That didn’t mean Winry would let go of him so easily. Her arms tightened around his waist and she dug her chin into his shoulder. 

Burying his nose in her hair, Edward inhaled deeply. She smelled so good. “I really need to get on the train.” 

“Uh, huh.” Winry snuggled closer. “Try not to stay gone too long, all right?” 

Edward squeezed her against him, kissing her temple. He could feel her heart beating against his chest. Leaving was different now; leaving her alone meant _he_ would be without her to talk to over dinner, to argue with in the morning, to cuddle up with at night. “I’ll do my best,” he whispered in her ear. He kissed her cheek, then, when Winry raised her head, captured her mouth. His belly quivered when she retaliated by licking his lower lip. “You’re making it damned hard for me to leave,” Edward growled.

“That’s just to remind you to come home.” Grinning dangerously, Winry unlatched her arms from around him, stepping back. 

Forced to adjust his coat so it covered his crotch, Edward whispered, “You’re cruel,” as he reached down to grab his suitcase. 

“Come home soon, Ed!” Winry said, raising her hand in a wave. 

Grumbling, Edward made a face at her that softened only somewhat as he climbed onto the passenger car. He pushed the window down, spotting Winry. Her hands clutched together, tight enough her knuckles seemed white, but she smiled brilliantly when she saw Edward. He waved as the whistle sounded twice. The train cars jerked, then began moving slowly forward. “I’ll be home before you know it!” he shouted, then wanted to slap himself in the head. How could he think of Rush Valley as home? Winry waved back, and Edward knew that was his answer – wherever she was, was home. 

He watched as she receded on the platform, then the platform receded, and Edward settled back into his seat, knowing he was on his way. Sighing inwardly, he tried to loosen the tight band across his chest. He dug his journal out of his pocket, opening it to the marked page. A photograph of Winry smiled out at him, and Edward touched her chin with a light tap of his forefinger, then tucked the picture farther back in the journal. Though he’d read Alphonse’s letter so many times the day before he could almost recite it, he wanted to look at the notes he’d taken on yesterday’s letter, as well as the previous notes he’d made to the unusual transmutation circle. 

At least it would keep him busy for part of the trip. 

X X X


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**   
_…In the last analysis, it is the unknown that leads the archaeologist on._   
**Waldo Wedel**

Edward swung off the train at the station in Risembool, breathing in deeply the familiar smells, strong enough to blow away the oil and hot stink of metal steaming off the locomotive engine. Sheep shit and lanolin, and green growing things – the smell of home. He inhaled deeply, coughed, and tried again, thumping lightly at his chest with his free hand. Yeah, this was home, all right. He drank in the sight of emerald grass and rolling hills, rising beyond the small town built up around the train station. A high-pitched yapping and the concerned baa-ing of sheep echoed faintly off to his left, but Edward didn’t turn that way. He knew what a shepherded flock looked like. Instead, he picked up his little case, tossing it over his shoulder as he made his way to the end of the station platform. 

“Ed?” His name came querulously. 

Edward turned around, walking backward for a few steps until he spotted the man calling to him, and stopped. “Stationmaster Coyle.” When had the man gotten so old? 

“Thought that was you.” Coyle’s dripping mustache wriggled around the corners of his mouth. “Good to see you again.” 

“Thanks. You, too,” Edward said, wondering what the stationmaster wanted. 

“It’s been a long time.” 

Great, he wanted to reminisce? Mentally gritting his teeth, Edward managed a taut smile. “Winry and I try to get to Risembool as often as we can.” 

“Pinako’s getting old, you know,” Stationmaster Coyle said, blinking his rheumy eyes.

As if he had any room to talk. “That old hag’s going to outlive all of us.”

Coyle sniffed. “No one lives forever.” A frown started almost as soon as he said it, and he eyed Edward more closely. “Your dad, though, he never seemed to change.” 

Definitely not a subject Edward wanted to get involved in, not now, nor ever. “Yeah, I heard the stories; it was like he never aged. Good bone structure or something,” he barked out. “Listen, Stationmaster, I have to go. I promised Granny I’d be there in time for supper. She’s making stew!” Waving a hand, he turned and jogged down the stairs, heading for the road that would take him to the Rockbell house. 

The setting sun warmed his shoulders as he strode along, throwing his shadow in lengths ahead of him. It took about twenty minutes to walk to the big yellow house sitting atop a gentle rise. It seemed like nothing had changed since the last time he’d been here. Den still lay on the porch, keeping an eye on the chickens scattered around the yard, but she raised her head, her tail wagging as she came off the porch, barking a welcome. 

“Hey, girl,” Edward said, rumpling her ears. He couldn’t help but notice how the white on her muzzle had spread up to her eyes, and down to her jowls. How old was she, anyway? How much longer would she be around? 

“Are you going to just keep loving on the dog, or come on into the house?” Pinako stood in the open doorway, scowling down at Edward. In some ways, she looked the same as she always had, as long as he could remember, but now that he’d been away from Risembool for so long, he saw white streaks in the iron grey of her hair. Eyeing him over the lenses of her glasses, Pinako asked, “You haven’t gotten shorter, have you? I’d hate my great-grandchildren to be shrimps.”

“What!?” Edward yelped. “Who’re you calling so short he’d pass on little genetics to his kids?!” Heat flashed over his face at the realization of what he’d just said. “Ah!” Grinding his teeth, he stomped toward the old hag, climbing the steps. “Besides, you’re getting smaller, too – and I’m betting you passed on some of your tiny genes on through Winry!” 

Pinako laughed at him, slapping his arm. “C’mon into the house. I’ve got some stew made, just for you.” It was as close as she’d come to saying she’d missed him, Edward knew. He held the screen door for Pinako and Den to pass through first, following the two old women inside. 

Pinako led the way into the kitchen and the worn table in it. She got down two bowls and set them on the countertop. “Fetch some silverware and some mugs, boy. I’ve got tea brewing in the pot, that dark, smoky stuff Al sends from Xing.” The smell of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, along with the familiar spicy scent of Pinako’s stew. His mouth watered as Edward poured tea for them, remembering to add two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk to Pinako’s mug, while he took his with the barest amount of sweetener, and set both mugs on the table with napkins and silverware. 

Pinako dealt out the bowls, climbing into her own chair. “Sit down, boy,” she said, humping her chair up closer to the table. 

Edward slithered into his own seat, stirring the stew to cool it off. Bread and butter sat on the table, along with a pot of honey. The familiar food soothed him, especially knowing he wouldn’t get anything this fine for a long time. 

“So, have you gotten my granddaughter pregnant yet?” 

The question nearly made him spit stew. Edward could see Pinako’s wicked grin through his watering eyes. “As if I’d tell you, you old hag!”

“Well, you’re married, right? I’m not getting any younger, bean! I want great-grandkids, and Al’s not going to get them for me any time in the near future. That girlfriend of his, what is she, ten? Not old enough to get pregnant, at any rate.” 

Edward flushed and groaned. “Don’t want to think about it!” 

“Your wife has periods,” Pinako reminded him flatly. 

Yeah, and that was when they risked not using condoms, during Winry’s monthlies, but Edward wasn’t about to share that with the old hag. “You’re ruining my meal!” he half-shouted. “We’re not talking any more about periods or bleeding or – or – Al’s sex life, or mine and Winry’s!” 

“We could talk about mine, then.” 

“Oh, hell, no!” He nearly threw his spoon away. 

Buttering a slice of bread, Pinako said, “Then back to yours. Winry keeps saying you’re not ready – both of you. How ready do you have to be?” 

“I am not having this conversation with you!” Edward snapped, slapping the table top. 

Shaking her head in mock sorrow, the old woman said, “I hope you’re having it with your wife.” 

Edward snarled softly over his bowl. “If we are, I’m not telling you!” 

“Hohenheim produced you and Al, so you should be good to make babies of your own,” Pinako went on, ignoring Edward’s scrunched-up face. “Urey and Sara made a pretty baby; I’m guessing Winry would, too. If the baby didn’t get too much of you in it.” She sighed. “If Winry’d married Al, she would’ve gotten height, looks and a sweet nature, all three.” 

“She didn’t. And you can just wait ‘til we decide to have a baby, on our terms.” Grabbing a slice of bread, Edward spread butter onto it and bit into it savagely.   
The tangy flavor of sourdough filled his mouth and kept him from saying anything in answer to the knowing smile Pinako gave him. Yeah, he knew she was baiting him, she always did. Once Winry and he had a kid, Granny’d be whining for another one. Like it was her decision. They’d decided they weren’t ready, and that was it, barring any accidents. And they were trying to be careful. Until Winry finished up her journeyman project and had taken her mastership tests, and he figured out what he wanted to do, they were kind of stuck. 

Pinako gave him a flat stare. “Babies can come whether you want them to or not.” 

Deciding he’d throw her a bone, Edward said, “All right, we _want_ kids. But not right now.” Man, he hated the grin she pointed his way.

“That’s what I wanted to hear, boy.” Pinako’s smirk was worse than any of Mustang’s, really. “Now, eat up, before your stew gets cold.” 

Damned old woman. “After I eat, I’m going to head over to the Xingese traders.” That’d give her something else to think about, at least. 

“It’s almost dark, Ed,” Pinako pointed out, nodding toward the window and the sky, painted in shades of rose and purple. “They close up at the end of the day.” 

He snorted. “Yeah, I forgot. Rush Valley’s open all night long.” 

“Must make it hard to sleep, all those hammers going,” Pinako said. 

“Nah, we manage to sleep,” he said, waving her off, missing the glint in her eyes. 

“Sleep? Who cares about sleep?” she roared. “I’m waiting for great-grandchildren!”

Edward screamed, nearly overturning his bowl of stew. “You old hag! I said I’m not talking this over with you! What Winry and I do – and don’t do together – is none of your concern!”

Pinako roared back, “It is, too! I’m not gonna be around here forever, Ed, and I want great-grandchildren! The fun of them, I mean, I’m not looking to raise any more kids.” Reaching across the table to poke him with the handle of the spoon, she added, “So you two better make good on your vows and get me some babies – and you’d better be sure to be around to watch ‘em grow up!”

His mouth opened and then closed again with a snap. “Yeah, yeah,” Edward muttered. “We’ll do our best.” 

Eyebrow cocking at him, Pinako nodded with a ‘hmph.’ “I guess that’s all I can hope for,” she said. 

Edward ignored the flush on his cheeks. “Weren’t you just telling me to eat my stew?” he reminded, spooning some up. No way was he letting this meal go to waste, and even this dinner discussion wasn’t putting him off the food. 

X X X


	4. Chapter Three

_It takes very special qualities to devote one's life to problems with no attainable solutions and to poking around in dead people's garbage: Words like 'masochistic', 'nosy,' and 'completely batty' spring to mind._  
Paul Bahn

The sounds of metalworking always intruded, one way or the other, at all times of day or night. Winry had grown accustomed to the noises, though she’d made sure that the combined house and shop she and Edward rented was at least far enough away from the blacksmiths that they weren’t subjected to rush order pounding all night long. Their living area was smaller than what she’d wanted, but they’d argued over it a while, and decided they’d rather save their money while she was finishing up the last of her journeyman project. When she passed her master’s test, they’d look into moving somewhere else. At least, that’s what they’d been talking about. Winry knew she’d have to return to Rush Valley regularly to check on her customers here, no matter where they decided they wanted to live. 

Edward pretended to grumble about it, but Winry could see his pride in her accomplishments. He liked the house, really liked the courtyard, and tolerated her customers – even the old men, who weren’t sure he measured up to what they thought her husband should be. The younger men were suitably impressed by his doting on her, because Edward was sure to bring her something whenever anyone under forty came for a tune-up or an initial appointment. Winry smiled as she poured tea for Paninya and herself, thinking it’d be strange not having Edward horning in on her appointments for a while. 

Carrying the tea on a tray outside into the courtyard, Winry took a deep breath. Juniper scented the night air, a clean, cool smell, combining with the metallic twang that coated everything in Rush Valley. It all mixed with the sweet steam rising from the teapot and the cookies she’d put together when Paninya showed up, unannounced as always, and suggested dinner. After eating, the courtyard seemed the best place to while away the evening. 

“What’s that smile for?” 

“Hmm?” Winry set the tray down on the table. 

“You’re smiling, and Ed’s not even here to have done something,” Paninya made a face and gagged, “romantic.” 

“Ed’s not romantic,” Winry argued. 

Paninya rolled her dark eyes. “Uh, huh. Your husband is stupidly in love with you. I saw the new tools he ordered for you last week, remember?” 

Winry blushed, shaking her head. “He knew I needed those! Besides, it’s not like I won’t be using them on him.” 

“Oh, I’ll bet you were working on him in thanks,” Paninya said slyly, and stuck her tongue out at Winry when she gasped her annoyance. 

“Shut up,” Winry told her, pointing to the mugs in emphasis.

Paninya took one of the mugs, adding plenty of sugar to her cup and stirring it to make a syrup that Winry thought would be more appropriately poured over pancakes than sipped. Slurping at the liquid, Paninya let out an appreciative sigh. “Al does get the best tea.” 

“He does,” Winry agreed. Stretching her legs out in front of her, she stared up at the sky. Toward the east, the sky had already darkened to indigo, while midway and more easterly, purple, rose and orange fought a losing war against the approaching night. The evening star – a planet, in reality – glittered against the darkening sky, a prelude to the nightly show the stars put on. Winry did love the nights in Rush Valley. The skies were so clear, and the sunsets were so colorful, not like any other skies she’d seen while traveling. 

“Helloooo,” Paninya said, lightly kicking the sole of Winry’s shoe. “Come back, Winry!” 

“I’m here!” She grinned, raising her mug in a salute. “Right here. Just thinking.” 

“Of course you are. You’re always thinking.” Paninya made it sound like a bad word. “Always thinking about new automail, and your customers.” 

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” Winry said it without any heat – this was an old argument, anyway. 

“Nah, except Ed’s gone, and you could be having fun, and instead, you’re sitting here in the courtyard, with me. And if I wasn’t here,” Paninya jabbed her with a stiff finger, “I’d bet you’d be in the shop, working!” 

“It’s not like I don’t have my master tests coming up soon.” Those tests loomed in her mind, and Winry hoped her newest piece, the one she’d been working on for the past three months, after designing it for the two prior, would be worthy enough to complete her graduation. Edward had even come into the workshop at various hours, hauling her out of it, sometimes physically, sometimes with temptations of food or drink or even sex. Winry wondered how she’d be able to cope with him gone. Who’d make sure she ate or slept over the next few weeks? 

“Do you miss him?” Paninya leaned her elbows on the table, her chin cupped in her hands. 

“Miss…Ed?” Winry opened her mouth to protest, and covered it up by taking a swig of tea – then had to blow out from the heat burning her mouth. “Ow!”

“You didn’t answer me,” Paninya sing-songed. 

“Oh, shut up,” Winry told her. “He’s only been gone a few days! What, do you think I can’t cope without him?” 

Paninya considered, picking a cookie off the tray and nibbling on it. “Well, you do have a lot of work to distract you. But you used to get all worried about him, at least until you got a new project. Are you saying you aren’t worried?”

Winry sighed, setting her mug down. Staring at the dark liquid remaining in the mug, she said softly, “Ed’s not going somewhere dangerous. He shouldn’t be getting into any fights, well, not worse than arguments, at least,” her eyes rolled at the idea of a peaceable Edward Elric. “But Al will be there, and it’ll be good for them to see each other again.” 

“I guess,” Paninya said, dubiously. She finished off her cookie and brushed the crumbs from her hands. “That settles it. I’ll have to come over and pester you more while he’s gone.” 

“Why?” 

She grinned at Winry’s plaintive tone. “Because, you get too caught up in your machines, silly girl!” 

“I do not!” Winry squealed, grabbing a cookie and throwing it at Paninya, who giggled and dodged. 

“Do too, do too!” Paninya threw her cookie half back at Winry, laughing when it bounced off her boob. 

Snatching up a handful of cookies, Winry flung them at Paninya. Paninya ducked under the table, making Winry shriek when cookie crumbs suddenly filled her boot. “You jerk!” She kicked at Paninya, hearing laughter as her friend avoided her foot. 

Paninya popped up on the other side of the table, just her topknot, forehead and glinting eyes showing. “Oo, do you kiss Ed with that mouth?” 

“I do a lot of things Ed likes with my mouth,” Winry retorted. 

“Bet you do,” Paninya’s smirk could’ve rivaled one of Granny’s as she crawled back into her chair. “Bet he likes it, too.” 

Winry grabbed her mug, glad of the darkening sky. It might help hide her blush. “Probably.” 

Paninya whistled her amusement. “More than probably. Guys like that sort of thing. ‘Course, as big as Ed’s mouth is, I hope he’s repaying the favor.” 

“Paninya!” Winry groaned. 

“So, did you ever try that thing that Garfiel told us about, you know, when he used the spoon as a demonstration?”

“Paninya! I am not answering that!” Winry shook her head, except she thought her smile might’ve given her away. 

From the answering grin on Paninya’s face, it had. “Guess Ed really liked it. And gave you that equivalent exchange thing in return, too!” 

“Maybe he did. I’m still not telling you.” Winry kicked Paninya’s shin with the toe of her shoe, making the metal ring. 

“But I don’t have a boyfriend!” Paninya wailed. “I have to live out my fantasies through you.” 

“Oh, please, like there aren’t plenty of guys sniffing around you.” Winry had seen them before, following after Paninya like a pack of hounds trailing a rabbit. Edward had complained about them, too, chasing them off like a cranky terrier when they got to be too much trouble. He wouldn’t be doing that now, either. But Mr. Garfiel and Mr. Dominic made sure that all the young men knew Paninya was under their protection – such as it was – and her own arsenal, of course, was pretty impressive. That cannon in her knee, the knife in her calf, it took some courage for a guy to look past those. Of course, there were men in Rush Valley who’d only see the automail, and not the girl attached to it. Those were the ones Paninya had to watch out for, but she wasn’t careless, at least not so far as Winry could tell – except for stealing alchemists’s pocket watches.

“None of them are as cute as Al,” Paninya sighed, sipping at her tea. 

Winry rolled her eyes. “You had your chance with him.” 

Flapping her hand, Paninya scoffed. “Like I can compare to a Xingese princess.” 

“You can.” 

Setting her mug down, Paninya leaned her elbows on the table. “Think about that, Winry. She’s got a whole country, and her brother’s a king.”

“Emperor,” Winry corrected automatically. 

“Whatever. I’m the girl who used to be a pickpocket and now fixes roofs. I’m not an alchemist, and I don’t have a cute cat, and I’m half metal.” She pointed at Winry before she could open her mouth. “I know Al used to wear that armor everywhere. I thought it was some sort of whole-body automail, like everyone else! And I liked him then, too, but I guess that princess had something I didn’t.” Paninya sighed and rolled her shoulders. “He spends all his time in Xing with her, and I’d bet he doesn’t even think about me.” 

Even knowing Alphonse wasn’t in Xing right now, and that Mei was off doing whatever Ling wanted her to do to help him out in some way, wouldn’t solve the problem. Paninya was right; when Alphonse wrote about Mei, Winry could practically see the hearts and flowers. Edward always groaned and skipped those paragraphs, trying to find something better to read than ‘gushy, mushy crap’; Winry did read them, and wondered when Alphonse had started returning Mei’s affections. Being one of his few friends in Xing had to have helped Mei’s suit, not to mention, Alphonse was a guy, and guys could be susceptible to hero-worship – Winry remembered how puffed up Edward got when someone recognized him as the Fullmetal Alchemist, even though he’d always try to deny it afterward. 

“I think you’re the one who needs the night out, Paninya,” Winry told her friend. “Something to get your mind off of my sex life.” 

Paninya pouted. “At least I know it’s a good one. Even if you don’t share nearly enough of the fun stuff.” 

Trying to control her blush, Winry grumbled, “Yeah. We’re definitely going out one night. Soon.” Because she was not going to be Paninya’s surrogate for a life of her own. No way. 

X X X


	5. Chapter Four

_If we knew what was there, we wouldn’t have to dig_.  
Richard Boisvert

Camels, Edward decided, were creatures he never wanted to see again. They stank, for one thing, and he didn’t even want to get into the spitting; though, he had to admit, they were definitely desert animals, and did better in the sand than the horse he’d ridden out to the Xerxes ruins the last time he’d been in the desert. But from his first day riding a camel, he’d gotten sick from the swaying of the beast, and it took a little while for his stomach to settle down. Eating breakfast was pretty much out of the question, and lunch was usually water. At least, when they stopped for the night, his stomach would calm enough he could eat a big supper – or at least enough to try and make up for skipping two meals. It wasn’t quite enough, though, and by the time the Xingese caravan reached Balaghat, the last Ishbalan outpost before Xing, Edward had to tighten his belt and he was sure his shirts were flapping around his body. 

The Balaghat welcoming party consisted of some Ishbalans and one lone Amestrian, who waved his hands over his head at the sight of the caravan. And the first thing out of Alphonse’s mouth was, “You look awful. Then, after a hug, he complained Edward was all skin and bones. “Like a starved cat.” 

“Shut up,” Edward growled, and thumped Alphonse on the shoulder, hard enough to stagger his brother. 

“Ow. You ass!” Alphonse took a poke back at him. 

Edward skipped out of the way, but not quite soon enough. “Ouch!” His bicep stinging from the punch, he rotated his arm to loosen it. “You’re not hitting as hard as you used to.”

“We’re older.” Alphonse shrugged. “Besides, if I knocked you down, you’d sulk, and then you wouldn’t want to go see anything.” 

“Who says I want to see anything anyway?” Edward groused. 

Rolling his eyes, Alphonse grabbed Edward’s bag, tossing it over his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll take you to my tent. I had another cot set up in there for you.” He grinned. “Has to be better than where you slept when you were running around with Greed.” 

Edward huffed. “I can still sleep anywhere.” Then added, “Except on a camel.” 

“Yeah, but you’ve gotten used to having a wife to snuggle with now,” Alphonse teased as he led the way into the village. 

It reminded Edward more of a portable town than anything, half of the buildings tents; half of them blending in to the desert, made of some composite, like concrete. Some kids and dogs were moving goats and sheep – just like back home – and there were some merchants hawking their wares. He could close his eyes and almost think he was back in Risembool, except the smells were different. “Shut up about Winry,” he grumbled, almost under his breath. Sleeping on the hard ground was nothing like cuddling up to her, hearing her soft breath when he woke up from a bad dream. 

Alphonse snickered. “Okay, I won’t bring it up again.” 

“Sure,” Edward said, not believing him at all. “So,” he lowered his voice, “tell me about this circle you found. Where is it?” He nearly crashed into his brother as Alphonse stopped abruptly, shading his eyes with his hands. Alphonse pointed, up toward a rock rising sharply up out of the desert floor. Edward craned his neck back, following the line of his brother’s arm. Something sparkled up there, high up, far nearer the apex than the base. “Oh, hell,” Edward groaned, “we’ve got to climb, too?” 

Grinning, Alphonse slapped him on the back. “Tonight, I’ll let you rest up, and get you fed. But tomorrow, we’re going up to the city.” 

“We don’t have to take camels, do we?” The idea of riding one of those swaying beasts up a mountain made his stomach churn. 

“Of course not. And there aren’t any donkeys to ride, either,” Alphonse said. But the kids sometimes rig up the goats to haul things.”

“Goats?” Edward blinked a few times, remembering more than one run-in with a particularly vicious billy goat when he was a kid. He rubbed his backside reflexively. 

“Nothing like Billy,” Alphonse said, his grin not nearly as reassuring as it was cruel. 

Edward snatched his hand away from his butt, glowering. “I’m not sure I want to sleep in the same tent as you.” 

“All right.” Shrugging, Alphonse said, “I guess you can sleep on the ground with the scorpions, then.” 

The best response was to punch him in the arm, so Edward did, sending Alphonse staggering sideways. Served him right. At least until Alphonse punched him back, nearly knocking Edward into a merchant’s cart. 

“Sorry!” Alphonse chirped, grinning brilliantly, and hauling Edward upright. “Move,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now!”

Edward obeyed, hoping the heat he felt between his shoulders wasn’t a prelude to a piece of fruit hitting the back of his head. The sensation didn’t end until Alphonse pulled him sideways, leading him toward the tents and starts of permanent buildings – home, for the next little while. “What do you know about Ishbalan customs, Brother?” Alphonse asked him, jarring him out of his thoughts.

“Not much,” Edward admitted. 

Alphonse stopped in front of a tent made of canvas and no different than any of the others – except for the lack of decorations on it. Edward glanced around, noting that the other tents were painted with brilliant colors, designs that reminded him of alchemic symbols. His eyebrows twitched at the sight of an elongated lion, chasing a sun, painted on a nearby tent side. The smell of incense, commingled with cooking food, tickled his nose, making him sneeze. “Welcome home,” Alphonse said, and opened the flap, gesturing for Edward to precede him inside.

Incense smoke sweetened the air inside the tent, masking the musty odor Edward expected, and dust from the desert. The light-colored canvas would let in a diffuse light, clear enough to see by during the day. Lanterns hung from the frame overhead to assist with night-time studies. A tiny field desk was set up near one canvas wall, another lamp perched on it, along with a fountain pen and some files. Rugs softened the floor. A miniature stove sat near the center of the tent, far enough from the walls and bedding to keep from catching on fire. Two cots took up what little room was left, along with some wooden boxes of notes and books. “It gets cold at night,” Alphonse said, gesturing to the stove and the blankets folded neatly at the end of the cots, “but I guess you know that.” 

Edward recited dryly, “Because there isn’t any cloud cover in the desert, heat from the day is lost at night.” Okay, so he adjusted it to his own specifications. “Anyway, thanks for the blankets, Al.” He wanted to stretch out on that cot and just sleep, without having to lie on hard sand, and listen to camel jockeys snore through the night, but his stomach, now that it wasn’t swaying around on the back of a camel, grumbled, loud enough for Alphonse to hear it, too. 

He grinned. “Food’s always available. But you do know how to eat it properly, right?” 

“You wrote me about it – left hand’s considered unclean, so only eat with your right.” Alphonse had gone into more detail than that.

“Because water’s sparse, and it’s easier to use one hand for wiping - ”

“Al, yeah, I got it.” Edward didn’t want to think about his brother’s ass, and how he might have to keep it clean. “Wait, about that water.” 

“No bathing in the village.” Alphonse spread his hands. “Not like we’re used to, at least. They use oil.” 

Edward’s eye twitched. “Oil?” He could practically hear Winry’s squeal of delight. 

“Oil. I’ll show you…you do stink.” 

“Oil.” 

“You’re not going to go on and on about this, are you?” Alphonse asked, folding his arms. 

Snorting, Edward shook his head. “Just thinking I’m gonna smell like roast pork before this visit’s over.” 

Alphonse’s stifled laugh and, “Ed, that’s horrible,” made it feel like home. 

X X X

It wasn’t even dawn but here they were, awake and getting ready for their trip up the mountain. Alphonse filled a third canteen as Edward prowled back and forth, reminding Alphonse of a trapped cat he’d seen before. As if he could feel his brother’s eyes on him, Edward stopped abruptly, walking back to join him as the kids milled around with their sheep, goats and the huge, creamy-colored dogs that guarded them. “You didn’t tell me that rock was made by alchemy.” He gestured at the mountain in front of them, where, high up on its incline, the city lay hidden amongst the underbrush. 

Alphonse shrugged. “I thought you’d like to figure that out yourself.” 

Shading his eyes, Edward tilted his head back, studying the peak above them. “Whoever did this had a lot of power,” he said. 

“Or a lot of alchemists working together.” Alphonse met Edward’s eyes and they said it together, “Or a Philosopher’s Stone.” Alphonse mused, “Dad said he was the only one to escape Xerxes, besides Father.” 

“Yeah,” Edward rubbed his chin, already lost in thought. 

Alphonse nudged him. “Wait ‘til you see the city itself.” 

“We still have to climb up there, right?” Edward sighed, eyeing the peak again. 

“Yup. But there are paths. It’s not that hard. And you can always grab a bellwether’s collar, if you don’t think you’ll make it.” Edward’s glare was enough to make Alphonse laugh. “Come on, we need to get our provisions. We won’t be coming back down until it’s almost dark, and now that you’re here, there are a couple of places I really want to explore.” 

“It’s safe up there?” Edward didn’t even look over. 

Alphonse’s eyes popped. “Since when has Edward Elric ever cared about whether a place was safe or not?” 

“Since he has a wife who worries, and an annoying grandmother who keeps nagging him about great-grandchildren,” Edward grumbled. 

“She what?” Alphonse grabbed Edward’s shoulders, giving him a shake. “She’s telling you she wants you and Winry to – to?” 

Edward broke Alphonse’s grip on him with a move Izumi’d taught them when they were little. “Pro-cre-ate,” he said, enunciating it slowly. 

For a few seconds, Alphonse couldn’t say anything, his mouth opening and closing. Edward cocked an eyebrow at him, a smirk quirking his lips. “You…are you…?”

“No. And the old hag’s pretty pissed at you for picking a girl who’s too young to make babies yet.” 

Heat rushed up over Alphonse’s face and shoulders. “Shut up.” 

His grin widening, Edward kicked Alphonse’s shin lightly. “Come on. Let’s get ready to go up this mountain.” 

X X X 

An hour into the climb, Alphonse pulled his backpack a little tighter on his shoulders. “How are you doing, Brother?”

“I’m alive. And,” Edward paused to wipe his forehead on his sleeve, “there aren’t any camels.” 

Nesrah trotted back to Alphonse. “Are you all right, Mr. Alphonse? Mr. Edward?” 

“We’re fine.” Alphonse tousled her white hair. “Mr. Edward’s just slow.” 

Edward showed his teeth but refrained from swearing in front of the girl. “Yeah, sorry. I haven’t been well lately.” 

Nesrah nodded, averting her eyes from Edward. She’d been that way at first with Alphonse, too; tongue-tied. “I will go on ahead!” she said, and chased after her goats. 

“Cute kid.” 

Alphonse nodded. “She’s the one who showed me the circle. She might know more about the city than she’s told me.” 

“Hmm.” Edward adjusted the pack on his shoulders. “Guess I need to make friends with her, or have you added her to your harem of underaged girls?” 

“Don’t Granny picking on you out on me.” Alphonse climbed past his brother, hearing the snicker that followed him, hoping the burning in his ears wasn’t too visible. He’d hate to have to explain it to Nesrah. 

“That means she is,” Edward gloated. 

Alphonse growled, “Don’t make me throw you back down this mountain.” His brother answered with a chuckle, making Alphonse shake his head. “You really are an ass.” 

“Uh, huh,” Edward snickered. “Glad you finally realized it, little brother.” 

“Just remember, we’re still about forty-five minutes away from the city gates,” Alphonse said, “and the city’s full of traps. Don’t go wandering off. If the kids or the goats have been through, it’s probably safe.” 

“Right, got it.” He sounded bored, but Alphonse knew his brother was relatively cautious – in his own way. Of course, his own way included a lot of harebrained schemes, too, not the least of which was trying to bring their mother back from the dead. Alphonse shouldered his part of the stupidity in that venture, but eventually, it had worked out to their favor, and the whole country’s, as well. And now, they were free to pursue their lives, without looking over their shoulders or wondering if they’d ever be normal kids again. Alphonse smiled faintly at the thought of being kids. They’d lost so much of their lives. Edward and he had stopped being kids the night they tried to bring their Mom back. 

After the Promised Day, they’d rested for two years in Risembool, licking their wounds; healing; before starting out again, this time to different countries. Those two years back home alternately bored and entranced Alphonse. It had been kind of like getting their childhoods back, living under Pinako Rockbell’s roof, doing chores again, wading and swimming and taking care of animals. Arguing with each other over nothing, just squabbling for the sake of starting a fight. Pinako had thrown the three of them out of the house over one of those, making them stand out in the rain until they apologized to each other and meant it. That, in turn, evolved into a water fight, and they’d had to stay outside until the rain washed off the mud and grass. Edward had caught a cold and blamed everyone for it the entire time he was getting over it. 

“What’re you laughing at?”

Alphonse glanced sideways at his brother. “Nothing.” 

Edward snorted again, ignoring him to keep climbing. 

The path they walked had a deceptively gentle grade, winding up and around spikes that had been carved by wind and sand over the centuries. Sheep, goats and dogs moved ahead of everyone, leaving those following to dodge poop and puddles of urine. The back of his calves burned from the slope, but Alphonse had grown accustomed to it over the past months. Edward plodded gamely on behind him, grinning or flashing a thumb’s up at Alphonse when he glanced back over his shoulder. 

They rounded the base of a spire and Alphonse paused, almost reflexively. He took a deep breath, inhaling the morning smells and holding them deep in his chest. Sunlight beamed over his shoulders, warming them like a mantle. Edward stopped next to him, bending over, his hands on his thighs, blowing like a worked horse. “When you catch your breath,” Alphonse said, “you ought to look at this.” 

It took a few minutes before Edward straightened, his wheezing changing to normal breaths. “Yeah,” he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve, “nice.” 

“You’re not even looking.” Alphonse elbowed his brother in the ribs, making Edward dance sideways a step. “See?” 

“Not with you beating up on me.” Edward rubbed his side, though his glare cleared somewhat as he followed Alphonse’s line of sight down to the desert below. “I didn’t realize we’d climbed so high.” 

“It’s deceptive.” Nodding, Alphonse gazed back the way they’d come, toward Balaghat. The sun wasn’t high enough to illuminate the site itself, but the golden rays touched on the desert beyond it, leaving shadows and pools of rich blues, greys, purples and greens, a kaleidoscope of textures and colors from this high up. Edward cocked his head to the side, then turned away from the view to tilt his head back, shading his eyes against the sun. Alphonse smiled faintly – how like his brother to look ahead rather than back. Clapping his hand on Edward’s shoulder, he said, “Ready?”

Edward showed his teeth, something between a smile and a grimace. “Let’s get the hell up there so you can show me what you’ve found.” 

With an agreeing nod, Alphonse took the lead again, and they continued their way up to the city. 

The undergrowth had been cleared back around the gateway, partially by the animals nibbling on the greenery, partially from Alphonse’s work. Vines still curled up and around the gateposts, thick and green, though not thick enough to hide the designs at the tops of the post. Alphonse pointed up silently and Edward said, “Sun and moon – pretty common designs.” 

“Uh, huh.” Alphonse nodded. “Remember to stick to the cleared paths, Ed. I’m not joking.”

“I know, I know.” He sounded distracted and Alphonse shot Edward a look, making sure his brother was listening. Edward leaned his head back, studying the architecture peeping through the greenery. “How much of this have you actually explored?”

“Not nearly enough. There’s evidence of doorways leading into the mountain. I haven’t been able to convince anyone to go in there with me.” 

Edward narrowed his eyes. “And face those traps?” 

“I can usually feel them with the Dragon’s Pulse,” Alphonse told him loftily. 

“Oh, yeah? And you haven’t set off all the traps yet?”

Alphonse deflated. “It takes time. A lot of it.” 

“Uh, huh.” Edward clapped Alphonse’s shoulder. “Guess we’d better get started, then.”

Relieved at Edward’s acceptance, Alphonse took off his pack and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He spread them out over a broken monolith. “The kids helped me with the maps. We still haven’t gotten too far through this, though. I mean, there’s only so much one man, a bunch of goats and some kids can do.” 

“Especially when the kids aren’t really supposed to be up here?” Edward asked wryly. 

“Like that ever stopped us.” 

“And you say I’m the risk taker.” Edward tapped a section of the map. “All right, so this area, you’ve mapped out. And this,” he pointed, “is the obelisk with the,” he glanced around, lowering his voice even though the kids were out of earshot, “transmutation circle.” 

“Nesrah showed it to me.” Alphonse leaned his hip against the broken piece of stone. “That obelisk is part of something, Ed, I can feel it. It’s set in front of what looks like a wall; maybe the innermost heart of the city itself.” 

“And whatever’s behind that obelisk might give us even more knowledge.” Edward’s face shone with curiosity and delight. 

“Might decipher that circle,” Alphonse agreed. He grinned as Edward turned to him, holding up his fist. Alphonse bumped it with his own. “Let’s get to work.”

Work was hard, though. They had to clear out the underbrush to get closer to the obelisk and the wall behind it. None of the animals had made paths that far into the city, or at least, not any larger animal. Alphonse could hear faint rustles of rabbits, or some other small creatures, running through the underbrush. Birds chattered and sang, but they fell quiet when Edward and he hacked a narrow trail into the thicket they considered their home. Guilt flickered through Alphonse at that realization, but he didn’t see any nests in their direct path. 

As if his thoughts alerted them, a flock of small birds took off, spinning overhead before flying off. Edward ducked his head automatically. Alphonse snickered. 

“What?” Edward snapped, glancing over his shoulder. 

“Just thinking of an old joke about bird crap. I’ll tell you later.” Beckoning for the long knife, Alphonse said, “My turn at the front. You take a breather and toss the branches.” 

Tossing branches really wasn’t much easier than cutting them. To do this properly, they’d have to tie up the branches and haul them back the way they’d come. The branches would be in the way otherwise. For now, though, they were bundling the branches and setting them aside to pick up later. Alphonse built up a rhythm swinging the knife, chopping through branches and grass. He knew Edward followed in his wake, breaking down branches further before tying them up and tossing them out of the way. 

The sun hung almost directly overhead before Edward insisted on a break. “I’m starving,” he groused, “and we need water and shade.” 

“Wuss,” Alphonse said, blowing hard, but he knew Edward was right. They did need to stop for a little while. Edward wasn’t accustomed to the thinner air like he was, not to mention he’d suffered coming across the desert and had obviously lost weight. Too stubborn to say anything about it, though; that was Edward Elric, all the way through. Alphonse waved a hand and Edward started back the way they’d come. 

As they exited the tunnel they’d made, Edward glanced back over his shoulder and hissed. “Doesn’t look like we did a lot.” 

“It never does,” Alphonse agreed. He picked a mostly-level rock and climbed onto it before opening his pack and taking out his canteen. Edward joined him, upending his canteen and gulping water. “Don’t drink it all.” 

Edward narrowed his eyes and took another, deliberate, swallow. 

Alphonse snickered and pulled out his lunch. The _naan_ , a type of flatbread made by the Ishbalans, wrapped around hunks of smoked mutton and pickled vegetables, and the smell of it made his mouth water. Taking a big bite, Alphonse chewed slowly, the meat tough from the smoking, the root vegetables crunchy, the bread springy and chewy. “S’good,” he said around a cud of bread and meat. He watched his brother’s first bite with amusement; Edward would eat anything, if he was hungry enough. 

“Mm.” Edward nodded his agreement, biting off a chunk. After swallowing, and washing it down with some water, he gestured back toward the obelisk. “How long do you think it’ll take to actually get there?” 

With a shrug, Alphonse said, “A few days.” 

Edward sighed, sprawling on the rock, his legs outstretched, one hand behind his head, the other holding his sandwich. Eyes half-closed, he stared up at the sky. “Okay,” he said, and bit into the bread and meat roll. 

Eating took the place of work and conversation, though Alphonse still enjoyed the companionship. As he chewed, Alphonse found himself studying his brother; the visible changes to his body. Edward’s skin had darkened while streaks of paler blond lightened his hair, courtesy of the Rush Valley sun. His body was still toned, but less from fighting and more from actual physical labor. Unless someone knew where, and how, to look, his automail wasn’t visible, not from the dark canvas trousers and boots he wore. But the major difference in Edward was the lack of nervous tension running through his body; the incredible drive that sent them traveling around the country for so many years to find the ways to get their bodies back. Now, his brother embodied the word ‘boneless’, resting on the sun-warmed boulder, his eyes half-lidded, a faint smile on his face. 

Sandwich finished, Edward yawned broadly, extending his free arm above his head. He stretched his legs. “How much more work do we have to do?”

“Lots.” Alphonse took another sip of water. 

Edward groaned. “Just use alchemy and get rid of that underbrush.” 

Giving him a disgusted glare, Alphonse asked, “How do you think I triggered the first booby trap?”

Edward sat up abruptly, eyes narrowing as he swiveled his body. Rubbing his chin, he studied the path they’d made in their attempt to reach the obelisk. “Alchemy sets off traps?” 

“Yeah.” Alphonse swung over so he could join his brother, dangling his legs off the edge of their boulder. “Alkahestry does, too.” 

“You could’ve told me that in your letter,” Edward said dryly. 

Chucking him on the shoulder, Alphonse said, “Didn’t want to scare you off.” At the look Edward gave him, he snickered. “Not enough, huh?” 

“Not likely. So, alchemy sets off traps.” Edward bent his knees, folding his arms atop them and leaning his chin on his arms. “And there’s a weird transmutation circle on the obelisk.”

“The mountain looks like it was raised up by alchemy, too.” 

“And this place is old.” 

“And the Ishbalans avoid it, for the most part,” Alphonse reminded. “The kids are okay with it, because it’s a good place for the goats and sheep to eat, but their parents don’t really want them up here.”

Edward turned his eyes to Alphonse without moving his head. “Why don’t they stop it?”

Alphonse shrugged. “Best grazing in the area, and everyone knows it. And,” he raised a finger, “it’s not holy ground, nor is it part of Xing.” 

“Just booby trapped for alchemists.” 

Grinning, he said, “Nothing’s ever perfect.” 

Edward snorted, loud enough to disturb the flock of brightly colored birds that had taken roost in the underbrush again. “Yeah, well. It’d be nice if something was, just once.” 

“Keep dreaming, Brother, keep dreaming.” 

Staring over the village, Edward suddenly said, “Don’t suppose you thought of inviting the bastard here to visit. What’s he like, about five-six,” he wagged a hand from side to side, “days travel from here, over in the capital?” 

“Maybe a week to ten days to the,” Alphonse shaded his eyes, squinting past the campsite below them, “northeast?” He pointed. “It’s that away,” meaning the capital city of Ishbal, the one that Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye were helping to rebuild. “Why?”

Grinning that wild grin of his, Edward said, “Just imagining the bastard trying alchemy in the city, and getting zapped by a booby trap.” 

Alphonse groaned. “Brother, you’re so cruel. Roy helped us out, a lot, while we were traveling. I never really even knew why you were – are – so horrible to him.” 

Smile fading, Edward shrugged, a distant, flat expression in his eyes. “He said something I didn’t like.” Before Alphonse could question him further, he clambered to his feet, stretching his arms over his head, some of his joints popping. “C’mon. Let’s get back to work. We’ve wasted enough time here.” Grabbing his canteen and pack, he threw them over his shoulder and climbed down off the boulder, leaving Alphonse no other choice but to follow him. 

X X X


	6. Chapter Five

_Nothing changes more constantly than the past; for the past that influences our lives does not consist of what actually happened, but of what men believe happened._   
**Gerald White Johnson**

“Brigadier, you have a visitor.” Riza Hawkeye stood just in the doorway, eyes straight ahead, expression completely neutral. 

“Oh?” Roy glanced up from his paperwork. 

“Dr. Marcoh was hoping you could make time to see him.” 

Roy nodded. “Of course, please send him in.” He got up to start some water for tea, the light, mint tea favored by the Ishbalans, as Tim Marcoh came through the doorway. He smiled his thanks at Hawkeye before turning his gaze into the office. 

“Good afternoon, Brigadier.” 

“Good afternoon, Dr. Marcoh. Please, come in, have a seat. I’m starting some water for tea.” Roy flashed a genuine smile at the man. 

Marcoh sat down in one of the chairs – far more comfortable than those at East Command, which were simply made of wood, while his office chairs now had leather covering, and were stuffed full of horse hair and camel hair and who knew what else. Maybe clouds, the way one sank into them. “Thank you for seeing me without an appointment, Brigadier.” 

“Roy,” he said as a reminder. 

“Roy.” Marcoh’s face twisted into a smile, the scars left over from whatever had happened to him during his travels around the country making it look more like a grimace, except for the twinkle in his dark eyes. “I wanted to let you know, my party is starting out for Balaghat tomorrow morning.” 

“Balaghat,” Roy said, glancing toward the desert map on the wall to the left of his desk. He walked over to it, spotting a green flag – a notification that an alchemist was known to be currently in residence at any particular area. “Alphonse Elric is there,” he said.

“Yes, he is.” Marcoh nodded. “Simurgh is going with me.” 

Simurgh – Scar’s new name. Taken from a bird of Ishbalan mythology, one that passed judgment on the unrighteous. Roy wasn’t sure it was the best of names, but he wasn’t going to argue with the man over it. “I’ll wish you both a pleasant journey, ending in fresh water.” A traditional farewell, one that Marcoh acknowledged with a nod of his head. As the kettle whistled, Roy moved to take it from the burner, pouring the hot water over the tea leaves spiced with mint, releasing the winter-sweet smell into the air. “You are aware that Alphonse has been exploring the city above Balaghat?” 

Marcoh’s eyebrows rose and lowered, just as quickly. “The ancient city? I had the understanding from Simurgh that it was forbidden.” 

Roy opened a desk drawer, pulling out a file with Alphonse’s letters enclosed. He pulled out one with a few notes on the envelope and unfurled the paper inside. Skimming through Alphonse’s clear hand, Roy found the passage he wanted, and read aloud, “‘…the city is high above Balaghat, almost hanging over it like a pleasant gargoyle. I was told that the elders don’t go into the city, but are aware of its existence, while the children take their flocks there to graze. I asked specifically if there was any taboo for adults to visit the city, and was told there isn’t, just that adults don’t usually go there.’” Roy folded the pages and slipped them back into the envelope. 

“I stand – or sit, rather – corrected.” Marcoh’s mouth quirked up at his own joke. 

“He did tell me in his most recent correspondence that alchemy seems to set off booby traps,” Roy said, musingly. 

Marcoh chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I will avoid the city entirely, then.” 

“You’re not curious?”

Raising his hands, Marcoh said, “Not in the least. I’ll keep my curiosity for my patients and their families, and leave exploring ancient, possibly dangerous, cities to the young.” 

Hawkeye had roughly said the same thing when Roy had mentioned a desire to assist Alphonse in his exploration of the forgotten city, except with less amusement. “I suppose you’re right,” Roy sighed, dreaming of what secrets the city might hold. Hoping there wasn’t a transmutation circle for flame alchemy there. He poured the tea into two matching cups, letting Marcoh choose his. “Still, the adventurous spirit never quite dies.” 

Marcoh lifted his cup in a salute. “Here, here.”

Roy touched his cup to the other man’s, smiling his agreement.

X X X

The sun shone directly overhead, illuminating the grey rocks and green underbrush. Edward laid his hand on the obelisk, the stone cool underneath his palm. Squatting next to the tower, he pointed at the base, and the indications of an alchemy transformation. Alphonse nodded. “Someone had a lot of power.” 

“Yeah.” Edward straightened, wiping his hands on his pants. “We knew that, from what we saw at the base of this mountain. Why would anyone want to do a transmutation this big?”

“You mean aside from trying to become immortal?” Alphonse asked dryly. 

Shrugging, Edward tilted his head back. He shaded his eyes, trying to see the transmutation circle from this angle, but he couldn’t make it out. “Yeah, besides that.” 

Alphonse scratched his head, ruffling his sweaty hair. “We don’t have anyone to ask, except this place itself.” 

“I don’t think stones talk.” Edward touched the obelisk again, wondering who’d made it, and why. 

“Not the way we do, no,” Alphonse said. He pulled open his pack, taking out some tools – a paint brush, a hand hoe, a trowel. “But if we dig around, maybe we can figure something out.” He wagged the hoe and the trowel. “Which do you want?” 

Edward snatched the trowel out of Alphonse’s hand. “Next time you uncover some old city, you’re getting more than just me to help dig it out.” 

“I had more help, but they didn’t like it here,” Alphonse admitted. He took the hoe and began carefully scraping at the base of the obelisk. 

“I’ve gotten more blisters working with you than even after we got back from the Promised Day.” The way he said it, he sounded irritated, but his stupid mouth got away from him, quirking up at the corners. 

And Alphonse noticed, and snickered in return. “You needed to do some physical labor. Something besides trying to make babies with Winry.” 

Wrinkling his nose, Edward said, “Told you, that’s the old hag’s idea, not mine. Winry and I have plans.” He straightened abruptly, staring off toward the west. “Shit.”

“What?” Alphonse sat back, cocking his head, curious.

“What is today?” Without waiting for an answer, Edward snapped, “Damn it!” Slamming his fist into his thigh, he shook his head. “Winry’s test. I was going to send her a knock ‘em dead letter, and I forgot.” 

“Oh.” Tapping the hoe against his palm, Alphonse said, “You know she’ll forgive you.” 

Edward snorted, glaring at his little brother through his bangs. “She shouldn’t have to. She told me to come here before the test, insisted I’d just be in her way while she was finishing up that automail piece, and I barely thought twice about leaving her.” Okay, he admitted to himself, that was not exactly true, but still, he’d left her in Rush Valley alone to finish her work. Grumbling, Edward stabbed the trowel into the earth next to the obelisk. 

A low rumble shook the ground they sat on, making both men spring to their feet and birds spring out of the underbrush, screaming in panic. “What the hell?” 

“Ed, what’d you do?” Alphonse yelped.

“Just – you saw what I did!” He pointed at the trowel, shoved into the soil. Exchanging a look with Alphonse, Edward licked his lips. “What do you think?” 

Alphonse studied the trowel with narrowed eyes. “Do it.” 

Edward raised his foot, stomping his heel down on the trowel. It scraped along the obelisk base, the sound drowned out by the grinding of stone on stone. Putting his hand on the obelisk, Edward felt the tremors rising up through the stone. He glanced at Alphonse. His brother spread his arms to keep his balance as the ground shook. “H-hey!” Alphonse yelped as the earth began sinking beneath his feet. Grabbing for Alphonse, Edward swore as the soil opened up, sending them both tumbling down into darkness. 

X X X

Winry sighed, stepping out of the building, turning sideways as she reached the center of the road to stare up at the façade. The carrying case in her hand seemed to drag at her arm, so she slung it up, over her shoulder, wincing a little as it bounced on her back. “I need a drink,” she said to herself, as people moved around her presence in their path. “And a hot bubble bath.” 

“Winry, darling!” Mr. Garfiel rushed up, dressed in his finest pink and purple outfit, hair perfectly coifed and glistening in the late afternoon sun. “How did you do?” 

Paninya grabbed for the carrying case. “You did great, I know you did!” she said, throwing her free arm around Winry’s shoulders.

“Well, the master’s committee told me,” Winry said, peeping at both of them through her bangs, relishing when they leaned in close. “That I passed!” She leaped into the air, punching at the sky with both fists. “I’m a master automail mechanic!” 

Mr. Garfiel smothered her in a hug. “Of course you did, dear! No one could take one look at that arm and not give you your master’s certificate!” When he let go of her, Paninya swung her in a circle, giddy with delight. “We have to have a celebration!”

“A party!” Paninya agreed, finally letting go of Winry. 

“A party? I don’t know,” Winry began. 

“Dear girl, you just wait,” Mr. Garfiel told her, linking his arm with hers. “Let’s hurry back to my shop, and you can fill us in on all the details. Who sat your committee?” 

“I had five committee members.” Winry recounted her adventures in the testing room as they walked back through Rush Valley, heading for Mr. Garfiel’s shop in triumphant glory. It almost seemed a relief to be going there, though Winry stopped abruptly at the sight of the sign festooned across the cargo bay opening, _Congratulations, Winry!_ All of her customers and many of Mr. Garfiel’s were there, welcoming her back after her tests. Tears sprang in her eyes at the sight of all of them. Tetsuo and Mr. Dominic stood at the front of the crowd, the boy and the older man having matching smiles of congratulations on their faces, albeit Tetsuo’s was broader, and he bounced in place. 

“I knew you could do it, big sis!” Tetsuo said, leaping up to hug her, and Winry laughed, embracing him back. 

“You were right,” she told him, letting go as others came forward to congratulate her. 

“Where’s the champagne? Winry deserves some bubbly!” someone called, and Winry heard the pop of a cork, and a few seconds later, a cool glass was pressed into her hand. She raised it up in salute, and drained the glass like Granny had taught her, amidst cheers of delight. 

There was a whirlwind of hugs and pats on the back, and Winry found her glass filled repeatedly. A plate of food was shoved in her free hand at one point, and she remembered eating something spicy, and something salty, and something crunchy, and, eventually, something sweet. A part of her wished Edward was here to celebrate with her – he would’ve enjoyed the food and the booze, she knew, and would’ve been whispering all the dirty things he wanted to do with her after he could drag her back to their place. A familiar tingle warmed her belly, and lower, and Winry _really_ wished Edward was here. 

Mr. Dominic stepped out of the crowd, his own glass in hand, the liquid inside decidedly not champagne. “Quiet, everyone,” he bellowed, but it took a few repetitions before anyone paid attention. “Everyone, we’re here to celebrate Winry’s certification as a master automail mechanic.” There were a few cheers and ‘here, here’s from the crowd. Winry was starting to wonder if she recognized all the people gathered in and around Mr. Garfiel’s shop. “When she first came to Rush Valley, and came to me, I didn’t think anything of it. But she proved herself to me when she helped my Satilla give birth to her son, without any medical training. She just stepped up to do what she had to do, and that proved her mettle to me.” He turned to look over the crowd, spotting Winry and raising his glass to her. “This is to the girl determined to become a real automail mechanic, one we can all be proud of. Winry Rockbell, this is your night.” Mr. Dominic downed his glass in three swallows amidst a lot of cheering, and then everyone else gulped down whatever they were drinking. 

“Speech!” Paninya shouted, and Mr. Garfiel and Tetsuo took up her chant. “Speech, speech!”

Winry groaned. Her head was spinning from the champagne, but she got up onto the block of stone in front of Garfiel’s shop, holding onto Paninya’s hand to keep from falling off. “Thank you, everyone, for coming to this party,” she yelled. “And thank you for all your faith in me. I’m really glad you’re here to celebrate with me.”

“Too bad your husband isn’t here,” Paninya muttered, just loud enough for Winry to hear. 

Clamping her hand even tighter around Paninya’s, Winry grinned when her friend yelped. “I promise, I’m going to live up to your expectations,” she shouted, waving her empty glass overhead. “An’ I’ll make you – whoa!” She nearly slipped off the stone, then caught her balance again with Paninya’s help. “Proud!” 

Cheers erupted as Mr. Garfiel filled Winry’s glass again, and she drained it down, almost as quickly. With an unlady-like belch, Winry clambered down off the stone, shaking her head and realizing that was a bad idea when the street spun. “No more drinking for me,” she slurred at Mr. Garfiel, who chuckled and guided her to a chair. 

“Sit down, honey. You have a rest.” He patted her shoulder, and disappeared back into the crowd. 

Sighing, Winry leaned back in the chair, closing her eyes. It would just be for a few seconds, she thought, and then she’d get back into the party. 

X X X

Dust still plumed up, making Edward wheeze. His eyes watered and he rubbed at them with the heel of his hands, blinking hard. “Al?” he coughed out, trying to peer through the dirt sifting down from overhead. “Al!”

“Over here, Ed. I’m okay.” 

The cavern’s gloom, combined with the dust swirling in the air, made it difficult for him to see anything. Edward squinted. “Where?” 

“Over here,” Alphonse repeated, then, “ow. Damn it!”

“What’s wrong?” Edward began following the sound of his brother’s voice, finally spotting a darker area in the shadows. 

Alphonse said tightly, “I landed wrong. Twisted my ankle. Be careful; I’m not sure what’s over here, but there’re a lot of things you can trip on.” 

Edward slowed his pace at that. “Right.” He picked his way carefully forward, over humps of grass and dirt brought down from the surface and stone _things_ barely cushioned by the earth still trickling down from overhead. Stopping, he looked up. They were pretty deep down in this subterranean cavern. With a sore ankle, Edward was pretty sure Alphonse wouldn’t be able to get out. He squashed down the thought that maybe they were stuck here. The kids were still grazing their flocks, and Nesrah would be sure to come looking for them when they didn’t show up at the appointed meeting place. 

“Where do you think we are, Ed?” Alphonse asked, coughing. 

“Besides underground? Dunno.” Edward stopped short of plowing into the base of the obelisk. The grey stone was darker down here, and more difficult to see. He ran his fingers over it, shaking his hand at the peculiar, prickling sensation, like static electricity, running through his digits. “Okay, where are you?” 

“Here!” Alphonse waved. 

Edward squatted next to his brother a few seconds later. Even in the dim light, he could see how the Alphonse’s leg had swollen above the boot. “Geeze, you did a good job with this, didn’t you?” He began untying Alphonse’s boot. “Hope you don’t think I’m going to carry you down the mountain on my back or something.” 

“Just put me on top of one of those sheep.” Alphonse’s joke ended in a groan as Edward wriggled the boot. “Ow, damn it!”

“I’m going to have to cut it off,” Edward said, fishing a pocket knife out of his pocket and opening it. “Hold still.” He braced Alphonse’s foot on his thigh and worked cautiously to cut through the seams of the boot. Alphonse gritted his teeth audibly as his foot was manipulated, grunting when Edward pulled the boot free. Setting Alphonse’s foot down, Edward sighed. “Now. Let’s see…where’s your pack?” 

“How should I know?” 

“You weren’t holding onto it when we fell?” 

“No, it was on the ground. Who knows where it is now.” Alphonse shifted his weight, keeping his leg stiff and lifted. “How far down are we?” 

“About seven meters, if I have to guess.” Edward wished he hadn’t set his pack down. If he had his canteen, he could wet down his shirt and wrap it around Alphonse’s foot. 

“Too high to climb out, then.” 

“Yeah.” Edward cast around, trying to spot either of their packs, but not seeing anything except dust silting down, glittering in the sunlight peeping through from above. And more of those stones. 

“I could use alchemy,” Alphonse said thoughtfully. 

Edward turned back to him, frowning. “Hold on, Al. You said alchemy sets off booby traps.” 

“The kids won’t be able to pull us out.” Alphonse wiped his tearing eyes. “And I kinda want out of here, Brother,” he added, coughing.

“Let me see if there’s another way out, first.” His eyes adjusting to the dim lighting, Edward stood up and began making his way along the cavern wall. The skin between his shoulder blades itched, as if something crawled down his spine. Edward twitched his arms, trying to loosen the shirt on his back, hoping it was dirt slithering against his skin. He could see something wet and slick, a dull gleam against the earthen wall. Worms, he told himself, refusing to think that it might be something poisonous with Alphonse right over there, unable to move. 

The cavern was bigger than he’d realized at first, disappearing back beyond the base of the obelisk. Edward wasn’t sure he wanted to continue that way. The ceiling above might not be stable, and he didn’t want to risk a cave-in. Sighing, he cut across the other direction, where there was a little more light; at least enough to see by to avoid the lumps and bumps on the cavern floor. Edward licked his dry lips, wishing again he hadn’t lost his canteen. Dirt rained down on him and Edward yelped, brushing at his hair frantically. 

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Edward snapped, shaking his head to loosen the rest of the debris. “Just something falling from above. He glared up at the small patch of sky he could see, and put his foot wrong. Boot skidding off of something slick, Edward caught himself before he fell, grabbing hold of a mounded rock to keep his balance. _Shit._ His knee throbbed. He wasn’t sure whether he’d twisted it or bumped it, but he swore he could feel it swelling already. 

“Are you all right?” Alphonse called. 

“Yeah, fine,” Edward said, rubbing his hands on his pants. 

“Are you sure?” Alphonse persisted. “Ed?”

He stared at the stone, grabbing the hem of his shirt and rubbing it over the surface of the rock. _What the hell?_ Was that a _face_ under the moss? Edward cleared the end of the stone, brushing and peeling it away from the rock. “The fuck?” 

Impatient, Alphonse half-shouted, “What is it, Ed?” 

“A face. It’s a fucking face and it looks like,” Edward shook his head. “Looks like the old man, just like that statue up top.” 

“Dad?” 

There was a scrabbling noise and Edward glanced over to see a murky figure staggering upright. “Al, stay there! You’re gonna screw up your ankle even worse.” When his brother ignored him, Edward gnashed his teeth, returning to help Alphonse. It took longer than he wanted, but he managed to half-carry his brother back to the stupid rock. 

Alphonse leaned both hands on it. “Ow!” He bounced back, and Edward moved, grabbing Alphonse’s flailing arm. “What was that?”

“What?” 

He shook his head. “Felt like static electricity,” Alphonse said, his nose wrinkling. 

“Yeah, I felt that earlier.” Edward touched the stone again. “Seems okay now.” He helped Alphonse back over to the effigy. “Just sit on the damned thing, Al.” 

Backing up to it, Alphonse hoisted himself onto the rock, holding his injured leg stiffly. “Wow.” He traced the forehead and the nose. “It does kinda look like Dad.” 

“Creepy.” Edward folded his arms. “Why would someone put together an effigy of the old man and bury it in some chamber?” 

“Maybe it wasn’t buried earlier,” Alphonse said, skimming his hands over the surface, made velvety by the green moss growing on it. “Maybe it was out in the sunlight.” 

Edward scoffed. “And they covered it over? I mean, I can see why I’d do that.”

“You know,” Alphonse looked up from the stone, “I never told you, but the Xingese have legends of the Sage of the West, a man they found in the desert, hundreds of years ago. A _golden_ man, who schooled them in what eventually became alkahestry.” 

Sighing, Edward leaned against the rock. “So what? This isn’t part of Xing. It’s more a part of Ishbal than anything.”

Alphonse held up a finger. “Or a part of Xerxes.” 

Edward tilted his head toward his brother. “Xerxes.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, pursing his mouth. “Do you think this is some sort of…enclave or something? A priest’s hideout? Maybe where the old man came, when he needed to get away from everything?” 

“I think when Dad wanted to get away from everything, he went out in the middle of nowhere.” 

Edward looked around pointedly. “This is the middle of nowhere.” 

“This,” Alphonse waved a hand, indicating the entire mountain, “is a huge sign that says, ‘Alchemists live here!’” 

Grunting his understanding, Edward pushed off the effigy to pace back and forth. “Then what was this place?” He looked around the cavern, wishing he had a torch and Alphonse hadn’t gotten hurt. Curiosity urged him to explore the cavern completely, find out if there was anything else of interest here. _No wonder Al can’t keep away from this place,_ he told himself with a smirk. But right now, with the place likely to collapse on his head if he went too deep into the darkness, Edward thought it would be too dangerous to go looking just yet. 

“I don’t know,” Alphonse admitted. “But it’s waiting for us to figure it out, right?” He raised his hand, forming a fist.

Edward had to answer that grin, stopping his pacing long enough to bump his fist into Alphonse’s. “Yeah. Too bad you had to fuck up your ankle just as soon as we find something worth exploring.” 

“Not my fault.” 

“Close enough.” 

Alphonse shook his head, his smile still firmly in place. “Figure out a way for us to get out of here, genius.” 

Well, it wasn’t the challenge he really wanted right now, but it was the most important one. “Yeah, yeah.” He walked away from the effigy, calling over his shoulder, “Slave driver,” only to hear his brother laughing behind him, at least until he started coughing from all the dust still in the air. 

X X X


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

_In a manner of speaking, the fact that humankind itself is unpredictable is the quintessential stumbling-block for archaeologists. We have to assume that the people whose dwelling places, artefacts, lives even, we are dealing with were rational, integrated, sane and sensible human beings. Then we look around at our own contemporaries and wonder how this belief can possibly be sustained._  
 **Laurance Flanagan**

“Mr. Alphonse!” Nesrah lay down at the edge of the giant hole, staring into the shadowed area below. “Mr. Edward! Are you here?”

“Nesrah!” 

She could hear Mr. Alphonse’s voice but couldn’t see him. “You are down there! We saw the explosion and knew it had to be you and Mr. Edward.” 

Mr. Alphonse laughed and Nesrah imagined him shaking his head. She couldn’t spot him down below the ground, but she could see a moving shadow. It had to be him. “Nesrah,” he said, “do you have a way for us to get out? A rope, or something?”

“No, Mr. Alphonse.” Nesrah glanced over her shoulder at the other kids. “They need a rope,” she said. 

Mahni, the eldest, considered. “Everyone, take off your belts. We can tie them together for a rope.” Each belt was at least the length of a woman’s outstretched arms and strong, made of flax and wool strands spun together. Tied into a continuous piece, the nine belts looked long enough to reach down into the hole, but it needed to be tied off to something that wouldn’t immediately get dragged down into the hole, too. Mahni wrapped the rope around her shoulders and began walking around the opening, staying a good ways back, in case it wasn’t stable. 

“We’re making you a rope,” Nesrah called down into the hole, seeing both brothers now. Mr. Alphonse and Mr. Edward were in a little puddle of sunlight now. They leaned on something that looked like it had a face on it. A chill walked down Nesrah’s spine at that sight, and she recoiled a little bit, sending rocks and dirt spinning down into the giant hole. 

“Be careful, Nesrah,” Mr. Alphonse said, or at least, she thought he said it. Her name was swallowed up in a cough. 

“Take it easy, Al. Don’t breathe too deeply,” Mr. Edward was saying. 

Nesrah wriggled backward to her friends. Mahni had gone about three quarters of the way around the big hole, edging past the big rock with the funny circle on it. She poked the ground ahead of her with a toe before trusting her weight to it. There was a scraggly tree just a few lengths away, and Mahni made her way to it. Stepping back behind it, she pushed on it with all her weight, grunting with the effort. Nesrah could see the tip of the older girl’s tongue sticking out as she shoved at the tree, testing it. Finally, she nodded, taking the rope and tying it to the trunk of the tree. She pulled on it, too, making sure it would stay knotted, and tossed the rope down into the hole. 

Nesrah crawled back out to the edge of the hole and shouted, “Mr. Alphonse! There’s rope over to your left.” She pointed in the right direction. 

“Thank you,” Mr. Alphonse called back. “I see it, Nesrah.” 

She watched as the two brothers hobbled over to the rope. They argued about who would climb up first – even though their voices didn’t carry out of the hole, Nesrah knew what arguing brothers looked like. Her cousins fought all the time and it looked just like that. Finally, one of them took hold of the rope and jerked on it a few times, then started climbing. 

Mr. Edward appeared out of the hole first, dirt on his head and shoulders and darkening his face. He scrambled up over the edge, and laid there, his chest heaving like a bellows for a few minutes before he leaned back down. “Okay, Al, your turn.” 

It took Mr. Alphonse a little less time to climb out, Nesrah thought, though once he reached the top of the rope, he lay there, panting. The brothers punched each other lightly in the arms and Mr. Edward got to his feet, helping Mr. Alphonse up. They balanced together, and began walking, hopping, toward her. Nesrah crawled back away from the hole and got to her feet, dusting herself off absently. “You’re hurt?” she asked when Mr. Alphonse was close enough. 

“I sprained my ankle,” Mr. Alphonse said. “It’ll be all right, Nesrah. Thanks, all of you, for helping.” 

Mahni eased past them to fetch the rope they’d made, wrapping it around her shoulders once she’d gotten it untied and bringing it back. “Can you make it back down off the peak?” she asked Mr. Alphonse. 

“Of course,” he said. 

Mr. Edward rolled his eyes. “We should just stay up here.” 

“That’s not going to help anything, Ed. We don’t have any food,” Mr. Alphonse argued. 

“There’re enough rabbits or something up here, I can make a trap and we’ll have plenty to eat.” 

Mr. Alphonse let out a tremendous sigh. “I can make it down.” 

“You’re limping.” Mr. Edward coughed a couple of times into his fist. 

“So?” 

“So, you’re not going to be able to climb down, that’s what.” 

Mahni said, “We can make a sling, and attach it to some of the goats.” 

Mr. Edward nodded. “That’s a great idea.”

“It’s a horrible idea!” Mr. Alphonse said. 

“Whatever you have to do, if you need my help,” Mr. Edward told Mahni, ignoring Mr. Alphonse. 

She nodded at Mr. Edward. “I need all the robes,” she said. 

“This isn’t going to work,” Mr. Alphonse said. 

“Shut up, Al, unless you have a better idea than staying here in the city.”

“No, no, that’s a bad idea,” Mahni said sharply, and Nesrah said, “You should come down with us!” her eyes wide. 

“It’s either go down by goat taxi or hobble with me,” Mr. Edward said. “I don’t think the kids are going to let us stay up here.” 

“No,” Nesrah shook her head hard. 

“See?” Mr. Edward jerked a thumb at her. 

Mr. Alphonse sighed. “Fine. Fine. Let’s get this over with.” 

Mahni was quick with a needle and thread, but it took more than her stitching the robes together to make a blanket. Nesrah helped, but her stitches were too big, and she passed the needle on to Besar, who sewed more neatly and faster than she did, despite being a boy. It only took a little while before the blanket was formed, and they made a sling out of it, tying all four corners with the belts. Those belts were attached to four goats, and they had ropes tied to their necks for leashes, too, so they could be led down the mountain. 

Mr. Alphonse gave Mr. Edward a long look. Mr. Edward said, “Get in the damned thing, Al, or I’ll throw you off the mountain.” 

Nesrah covered her mouth to keep in the giggles as Mr. Alphonse climbed into the sling. The fabric sagged until they got the goats adjusted, so the blanket stayed taut. Mahni clicked her tongue and the goats started moving, reluctant at first, then picking up the pace. Grinning at Mr. Alphonse, Nesrah wasn’t surprised to see him pouting. Just like her baby brother, she thought, though she decided not to say that out loud. Boys didn’t like it when you pointed out they were sulking, after all. 

X X X 

Winry jerked awake, blinking a few times. She recognized the walls, painted a pale pink, but her head ached at the idea that she’d woken up to them again. The walls in her bedroom were tan, with a framed wedding picture hanging right over _there_ , and, across from it, a detailed diagram of the bones in the human body, something Edward had found in a bin and had framed to surprise her. Winry had originally thought it a little creepy, but Edward really liked it, and she realized pretty quickly that it was a handy reference when she didn’t feel like going downstairs to look something up in her heavy medical book. This wasn’t her bedroom though she knew it – she’d slept here when she was Mr. Garfiel’s apprentice. 

Grimacing, Winry sat up. Her head throbbed, not just from finding herself back in her old room, but from the alcohol she’d had the day prior. Sunlight stabbed through the curtains to strike her eyes, and Winry shaded them with her hand until she could turn away from the light. The cold floor shocked her bare feet, but Winry ignored that, staggering across the floor and to the door. “Bathroom, bathroom,” she chanted under her breath, hurrying down the hall to the water closet. 

After she made use of the facilities, Winry returned to the bathroom. Her clothes were neatly folded, proof that Mr. Garfiel had helped her undress, as opposed to Paninya, who would just fling clothes around everywhere. Dressing herself took a little bit of time, mostly because Winry’s head throbbed horribly every time she bent over. Once she was dressed, she headed downstairs. The sounds of the shop made her skull pound, but it wouldn’t be the first time she’d ventured into an automail shop with a headache. 

“Good morning!” Mr. Garfiel trilled, turning off the grinder and raising his protective goggles to smile at her. “Did you have a good sleep?”

“Thank you for putting me to bed, sir,” Winry said. 

“When you started singing _Sis from Amestris_ with Paninya, I knew you were not going home, dear.” 

Wincing, Winry rubbed her temples. “I was singing that?” The song was well-known amongst her ex-military customers, mostly for its vulgarities. What had surprised her was Edward knew the song, and all the lyrics. Maybe it shouldn’t have shocked her, though, considering how long he’d spent in the Amestrian army. 

Mr. Garfiel chuckled. “Everyone loved it! Well, not everyone, but Tetsuo’s mother knew that you had had a few drinks by then.” 

“Oh, geeze!” Winry groaned, laying a hand over her eyes. “She heard that?”

“I think everyone in the neighborhood heard it, sweetie.” Eyes sparkling, Mr. Garfiel patted her on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you some breakfast.” 

Though Winry wasn’t sure she’d be able to eat, Mr. Garfiel made her toast, and had her drink two glasses of water before he would even let her consider walking home. “Don’t worry about your piece, dear,” he said, when Winry reached for it, “I’ll have someone bring it by later today. You go home and get some rest.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Garfiel.” Rest sounded good, maybe with another glass or five of water and some aspirin. Possibly a long bath, since Winry was pretty sure she smelled rank, though Mr. Garfiel was too kind to say anything. 

“Oh, sweetie, I just hope you had a good time.” He tittered. “If you remember it.”

Winry tried to keep from wincing again. “If I was singing, maybe I don’t want to remember it.” She couldn’t help but think that Edward would’ve laughed himself sick at the idea. “You’re sure it’s not a problem about my automail?” 

“Quite sure, dear. You go on home and rest.” Mr. Garfiel cupped her cheek. “It’s a pity Edward wasn’t here to share in the celebration, but I hope we made it good anyway.” 

Patting his hand, Winry said, “You did. It was wonderful. Thank you so much for having a party for me.” 

“Of course, Winry.” He beamed at her. “You have a nice rest, now.” 

She smiled back, a little crookedly, and left him to finish his work. The walk back to her own shop took longer than she wanted it to, mostly because the sunlight really hurt her eyes. Her feet kept traveling in directions she didn’t want them to; and the sounds that were a normal part of Rush Valley seemed to be banging and grinding and shrilling right inside her skull, as if they were trying to escape being inside her head. By the time she reached the shop and gotten inside, Winry wanted to vomit up her breakfast. Instead, she made herself sip another glass of water, and fell onto the couch to sleep the rest of the day away. 

X X X

Edward opened his eyes abruptly, staring up at the cream-colored fabric. His vision cleared enough that he recognized it for the tent ceiling but the morning brilliance made Edward shade his eyes with his hand. He groaned softly. Why the hell did it feel like he’d had too much to drink the night before? His stomach twisted itself into knots, all the way from his esophagus down to his lower intestines, Edward was sure of it. 

“Nnn…” 

Cautiously, Edward turned his head toward his brother. “You alive, Al?” 

“Barely,” Alphonse answered in a scratchy voice, covering his eyes with his hand. “Did we have a party I don’t remember last night?” 

“I don’t remember it, either.” Sitting up carefully in regard to his throbbing head and knotted guts, Edward squinted against the diffuse sunlight filtering through the canvas of the tent. “Damn,” he said, heartfelt. 

Alphonse peered at him from under his hand. “Can you turn out the sun?” 

Edward stopped himself at the first shake of his head. “Don’t think that’s gonna happen, Al.” 

He grunted in answer. “I don’t think I can go to the city today.”

“Me, neither.” A memory dislodged itself in his head. “How’s your ankle?” 

“I hurt everywhere.” Alphonse curled onto his side and pulled the blankets up to his ear. 

“We probably need water.” 

Alphonse grunted.

Edward managed to get onto his feet on the second try, and stood, swaying slightly, like a reed in a breeze. When he decided he could keep his balance, he took a step, then another. The top of his head felt like it was going to explode as each foot fell. “I’m getting us some water,” he announced, untying the tent door to go through it. He nearly retreated back into the tent when the sun’s light hammered down on his skull. Swallowing hard, Edward closed his eyes, still seeing red through his lids. He wondered if he could feel his way to the well. 

“Mr. Edward!” 

Nesrah’s shrill voice sliced right into his brain. Edward hunched his shoulders and hushed her quickly. 

“Mr. Edward,” she whispered, creeping up to him. “Are you all right?”

“No, Nesrah,” he whispered back. “Al and I aren’t feeling well. We’re not going back up the mountain with you today.” If this was some sort of illness, he didn’t want to get too close to her and pass it on. He wasn’t sure what the incubation period was. 

“Do you need anything?” She looked him up and down. 

“Water?” 

“I’ll get it for you!” Nesrah smiled sweetly and darted off. 

Edward passed a hand over his forehead and stumbled back into the tent, falling back onto his cot. “Nesrah’s getting water,” he mumbled into his pillow.

“‘Kay,” Alphonse said groggily. He fell silent and, after a few minutes, Edward heard a soft wheezing that let him know his brother had gone to sleep. 

Closing his eyes was tempting, but Edward stubbornly kept them open. He reached into a box under his cot, pulling out a pad of paper on a clipboard and a fountain pen. 

_Dear Winry,_ he wrote, and hesitated. What the hell should he write? How sorry he was for missing her master’s exam? That they’d been so busy, cutting down underbrush and clearing out a space in front of the big obelisk that he’d lost track of the days? He nibbled on the end of the pen, staring at the blank paper. _I miss you,_ formed on the page before he’d even realized it. 

The words sparkled as the ink dried, and Edward grinned slightly. “Yeah,” he said, I guess I - ” The cough ripped through his chest and throat, leaving him breathless and collapsed back on the cot, a low groan escaping him as he dropped the clipboard on the tent floor. His eyes were two heavy to keep open, and Edward lost the fight, giving in and letting the darkness swarm over him. 

X X X

Winry waited in line for the ticket window to open at the train station, Paninya, standing almost right behind her. “I can’t believe you’re leaving,” Paninya moaned. 

“I’ll be coming back,” Winry said, sighing. 

“Yeah, but when? I mean, you have customers here!” Paninya waved a hand toward Rush Valley. “And friends!”

“I know I have friends and customers here,” Winry said patiently. “But I’ve also got a husband, and a brother I haven’t seen in a really long time. And I want to see Al, and I want to have a vacation with Ed. And I want to show off my master’s certificate to my grandmother.” 

Making a sour face, Paninya muttered, “When you put it that way.” 

Winry grinned at her, patting her shoulder. “You’ll be fine without me for a little while. It might even force you to get out and find a boyfriend.” 

With a snort, Paninya said, “Again with the boyfriend.” 

“Again with you needing to get a life of your own,” Winry reminded firmly but with a smile, “and not live through mine.” She stepped up to the ticket counter. “I’d like to buy a ticket to Risembool, please.” 

“How long will you be gone?” 

Passing the money through the gate, Winry accepted the ticket in return, tucking it into bag for safe keeping. “Ed and I didn’t get a honeymoon.” 

Paninya groaned. “You’re going to be gone a month?” 

“You’ll live,” Winry told her as she flagged down a porter, handing him her luggage except for her carry-on bag, loaded with the newest automail magazine, her smallest toolkit, and a few other necessary items for a long train trip. “Go bother Mr. Garfiel if you get bored, he’ll put you to work and find a boyfriend for you.” 

“That scares me, you know,” Paninya said. 

Waving off her fear, Winry asked, “How many times did he try to set me up with dates? Some of those guys were cute, too. And nice.” 

“Yeah.” Paninya glanced sideways, mumbling, “But you aren’t half metal.” 

“And this is Rush Valley. That’s a plus to some of those guys. And if it’s not, then they aren’t very good guys anyway.” Winry pulled Paninya into a hug, squeezing her tight. “Now, while I’m gone, be good; check my shop out and make sure no one’s messing around in the courtyard. Including that cat.” 

“Like I can keep a cat out of a yard,” Paninya scoffed, but her voice sounded tight, and she clung to Winry when Winry started to let go. 

“You’ll do just fine,” Winry told her, loosening her grip. 

“I hope so.” Paninya let go, stepping back and scuffing her boot across the wooden floor of the platform. “You’d better be good, too. And.” She sighed. “Have a good time.” 

“I will.” Winry grinned, waving as she walked to the train car, climbing up onto it. Once she’d settled onto a bench seat, she leaned out the window, waving at Paninya. She waved back as the line’s man shouted, “All aboard!” and the bell on the engine began ringing its warning of imminent departure. The train jerked as the locomotive started forward, and Winry leaned back in her seat, sighing. She almost couldn’t remember the last time she’d left Rush Valley, and now, she was leaving the country to go to Ishbal. Winry grinned, feeling almost like bouncing in her seat. It was going to be so much fun, surprising Ed and Al. She couldn’t wait. 

X X X 

The desert-bred horses seemed too delicate to ride, but their sturdiness had been proven time and again. Still, Dr. Marcoh was always surprised that they could bear his weight all day across the desert and still have energy left over once they were unsaddled to roll and caper. “I wish I was that young,” he said, watching his horse toss his mane before he dropped to his knees, rolling in the sand. 

“Childhood is wasted on the youth,” Simurgh said. 

Marcoh chuckled. “I suppose it is.” He watched the horses as they squealed and pushed at each other. “How many more days until we reach Balaghat?”

“We should see it tomorrow.” 

“Good. I’m not sure my back can stand much more riding. Nothing against your horses,” Marcoh said, “just my old back doesn’t like travel without more padding.” 

A faint smile crossed Simurgh’s face, warming it. “Tomorrow,” he repeated. 

Marcoh put his hands in the small of his back, leaning back to try to relieve the pressure. “I can’t wait.” 

Simurgh turned his laugh into a cough, hacking into his fist. “Tomorrow,” he said.

“You’d better make sure of that.” 

“I will make doubly sure of it, Dr. Marcoh.” 

“Good.” 

This time, Simurgh didn’t bother trying to hide his laugh. 

X X X

Nesrah peeped into the tent, making a face as she spotted the brothers. Mr. Alphonse lay curled up tight on his cot like a pill bug. Sweat made his face seem like it was melting. He shuddered every few seconds, grimacing when he did. Mr. Edward was tangled in his blankets, looking like a rabbit caught in a trap. He even twitched like one. 

“Eww,” Nesrah said. They looked so sick! She’d told Ama about how Mr. Edward asked her to get water for them, and that when she brought it back, both brothers were asleep. Ama had frowned, and told her to wait at home while she went to check on the brothers, but Nesrah had followed her, anyway. Now, she ducked her head as Ama frowned at her. 

“I told you to stay home,” she scolded, tucking her scarf up over her mouth and nose.

Nesrah scowled. “Mr. Alphonse is my friend!” 

Ama frowned, but, after a few seconds, she shook her head. “Stay outside the tent. I mean it.” She laid her hand on Mr. Alphonse’s shoulder, then touched his forehead, hissing softly. Without turning around, she said, “Nesrah, go get Davir. They need his healing skills. ” 

“Is Mr. Alphonse going to be all right?”

“Nesrah, go!” Ama shouted, making Nesrah skip back a step. With a little whimper of agreement, she ran off, heading for Davir as fast as she could go. 

X X X


	8. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

_History is a vast early warning system._  
 **Norman Cousins**

The horses picked up speed, as if they spotted Balaghat before their riders did. Marcoh clenched his teeth, tensing up as his gelding pranced sideways, shaking his head and snorting, his tail flicking back and forth. 

“Shaaaa, shaaaa,” Simurgh said soothingly to the horse as he rode up beside Marcoh. His own horse remained ultimately obedient, but he seemed to be a part of his mount, as if he’d been born on the animal’s back, and raised there all his life. 

The gelding flipped his ear toward Simurgh but seemed to settle, at least somewhat. He stopped walking sideways, and continued moving forward, though Marcoh could swear the horse let out a disgruntled sigh as he shook his head, his ears flopping. “Thank you, Simurgh.” 

“Your horse is high-spirited.” His mouth twitched, but he schooled it away before Marcoh could read his expression. 

“Don’t I know it,” he said. 

“They smell the water,” Simurgh said, “even this far away.” 

“How much farther do we have to go?” 

“Three or four hours, perhaps.” Shading his eyes, Simurgh then pointed ahead of them. “Look, you can see the foothills now.” 

Marcoh squinted under his palm, finally seeing the hint of green against a nearly white sky. “If we let them run, how fast will we get there?”

A rare smile crossed Simurgh’s face. “It depends. Do you think you can stay on at a faster pace?” 

Gathering up his reins, Marcoh kicked his gelding in the ribs, sending the horse forward. Simurgh whooped and his horse leaped after them. 

In the end, it took about two-and-a-half hours of steady riding; spurts of cantering interspersed with long bouts of trotting. The jarring gait made Marcoh wish for a car, or his own feet, but he didn’t complain. It took them closer to civilization. When he spotted Balaghat, Marcoh let out a little cheer, his gelding taking a crow-hop in reaction to his voice. Marcoh patted the dumb thing on the shoulder. “I know. I can’t wait to get there, myself. If only because I’ll be about to dismount and you and I can part ways for a while.” 

Simurgh chuckled, hearing the comment. “Not much longer,” he said. “We can let them run, if you’re up to it.” 

Cheering louder, Marcoh urged his steed on to greater speeds. The gelding charged forward, Simurgh’s horse fighting to keep up. They raced toward Balaghat, the horses pounding across the sand. Marcoh knew he’d pay for the race later, but for now, with the city in sight, it was worth it. He cheered on his gelding, giving him his head. The horse was fast, but not quite as fast as Simurgh’s mount, who pulled ahead. Marcoh shouted, but Simurgh’s horse proved his worth, speeding ahead like a locomotive engine, leaving Marcoh with the sight of his hooves, kicking up sand. 

They rode into Balaghat at a gallop, Simurgh slowing only slightly to spin his horse toward the corral. He guided his mount through the open gate, leaping off as Marcoh finally caught up, his horse snorting and tossing its head at the confining pen. He reined his gelding to a stop, almost falling off the horse in his eagerness to dismount. His legs barely held him, but he managed to keep from falling as an Ishbalan child led the gelding into the corral. “Ow,” Marcoh groaned, putting a hand in the center of his back and staggering. 

“Easy,” Simurgh said, catching him under the arm to keep him from falling. 

“Simurgh!” 

He turned at the sound of his name, pulling Marcoh with him. Marcoh squinted, the sun in his eyes keeping him from recognizing the man who raised a hand in greeting. “Davir?” Simurgh asked, releasing Marcoh and crossing to take the other man’s forearm and squeeze it in greeting. Hearing a snort behind him, Marcoh glanced over his shoulder in time to see his gelding flirt his heels into the air and nip at Simurgh’s horse. Someone wasn’t tired in the least. “Youngsters,” Marcoh muttered under his breath. 

“I am glad to see you, my friend,” Davir said as Marcoh accepted his pack from the Ishbalan child who’d led away the gelding. “And you, too, Dr. Marcoh.” 

He smiled, tottering over, legs still trembling from the hard ride. “Thank you, Davir,” he said, offering his forearm, pleased when it was accepted. “I am glad to see you, as well.” Marcoh smiled. “And to get off that horse.”

Davir didn’t return that smile, instead, he glanced toward the corral, then back. “I know you have had a long trip, but I was wondering if you would be able to take a look at a pair of patients?” 

“Of course, I always have time for patients,” Marcoh said, even though his body cried out at having to work rather than rest. “Simurgh? Are you coming along with us?”

Davir’s eyes darted at Simurgh. “It would be most appreciated,” he said, and beckoned them on with a hand wave. 

Balaghat usually seemed to be unusually quiet; even the merchant’s alley was subdued. Marcoh didn’t spy any children roaming the streets, another curiosity. Instead, the streets remained quiet, and Davir led them quickly through them, checking over his shoulder to make sure they were keeping up. The tent he took them to was undecorated, plain canvas. Davir hesitated before the doorway. “The reason I wanted you both is you were compatriots of these men. No one here in Balaghat shares that bond. But I need you to be aware that they are very ill, and might be contagious, so please.” He pulled his robe up over his mouth, “Take precautions.” 

Davir opened the doorway to the tent. The odor wafting out made Marcoh wrinkle his nose. Davir seemed almost immune to it, though his brows went down sharply. Simurgh’s hands clenched, his knuckles popping, but otherwise, he had no reaction. 

“Yes,” Davir said. “They are ill, and we are unsure of the cause.” His mouth turning down, he glanced into the tent. “They were found yesterday morning, by a child. So far, she hasn’t shown any symptoms, but we have quarantined them until we know for sure what they have.” 

“Understood,” Marcoh said, and laid his hand on Simurgh’s arm. “You’d best not go in. Let the healers handle this.” 

Simurgh’s mouth turned down, but he nodded curtly. “Doctor,” he said, “be careful.”

Marcoh patted Simurgh’s arm. “I’ll be fine.” Squaring up his shoulders, he opened his bag, pulling out a mask. “See? Precautions,” he said, tying it in place. “Davir, I’m ready.” Turning away from his friend, Marcoh followed the healer into the Elric brothers’s tent. 

X X X 

_Heat._

Alphonse stared at the unwavering sky, nearly bleached white by the sun. His head ached – dehydration, it had to be, but why? He sat up slowly, shading his eyes. Overhead, he could see the obelisk, though, somehow, it seemed to tower higher above him, the grey stone menacing and cold. 

A crunching sound came from behind him and Alphonse turned, eyes widening and a smile starting. “Dad!” 

Hohenheim had stopped walking, his hands behind his back. His glasses had vanished, and he wore long robes, like the Ishbalans did, and sandals made of leather. 

Alphonse’s smile faltered. Something was wrong – something he couldn’t – “Dad?” 

“I am Father,” the thing with his Dad’s face said, suddenly becoming a black form, covered in purple-red eyes. It stretched out an arm, impossibly long, grabbing Alphonse and holding him above its head. All the eyes focused on him, and a mouth gaped open, the flat teeth clicking together as Alphonse was lowered toward it. 

“No!” Alphonse struggled in the thing’s grip, but it held him too tight for him to break free. “Dad! Dad, help!” 

It laughed, a rough sound like trains colliding with sandpaper. “You’ll be a part of me, Alphonse Elric.” Its maw opened wider, and it lowered him, head first, toward its mouth. 

He screamed and thrashed, but it had no effect on the monster. The flat white teeth clicked closed on Alphonse’s spine, and he could remember nothing more. 

X X X

Winry groaned, stretching her arms out in front of her and arching her back. Train travel always made her butt hurt, and this trip wasn’t going to be an exception to the rule. She wondered how the pregnant woman across the way could stand it. The heat on the train sweltered, and the woman and her husband were dressed in what had to be their best traveling clothes; looked to be a wool skirt for the woman and a wool suit for the man. The woman stirred the air near her face with a paper fan, her face turned toward the open window. 

“I don’t want to travel like that if I can help it,” Winry told herself, making a face. Of course, she probably wouldn’t wear wool to travel, unless heading north to Briggs again. She remembered all too well how cold she’d felt there. Wearing a dress and tights had been a stupid idea, but even with the warning that Edward would freeze to death, she hadn’t realized what it really meant. Risembool never got that cold. Snow frosted the ground; rarely getting as high as the tops of shoes. It didn’t pile in heaps higher than her head. 

Shaking off the thoughts of Briggs, and everything that had happened there, Winry reached for her toolkit when the conductor shouted out that Risembool was the next stop. The train was already starting to slow, and, out the window, Winry could see the buildings that marked the center for the country town. By the time the train had pulled into the station, Winry was already moving for the door. 

Stationmaster Coyle was waiting for her to get off the train, his whiskers drooping. “Miss Winry,” he said, reminding her of a sad-faced dog. 

“Hi, Mr. Coyle!” 

He smiled in response to her grin. “It’s good to see you again. That Edward was here just a few days ago.” 

“Mm.” Winry nodded. “He was heading into Ishbal. I’m going after him!” 

Mr. Coyle’s mustache twitched and his eyes widened a bit. “Zat so? You’d better be careful out there in the desert.” 

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’ll be in good hands.” Saying her goodbyes with a promise to see him again on her way back to Rush Valley, Winry hoisted her bag and toolkit over her shoulder and started for home. Funny, though, when she saw the yellow house where she’d grown up, it looked different. 

Smaller. Older. In need of paint and some hard work. 

Winry studied the house from the road. She could see Den, lying on the porch, and could hear a rooster, crowing his brilliance in the yard. Her heart constricted inside her ribs, and Winry nearly dropped her toolkit at the pain. The house blurred. Winry blinked hard, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of her jacket. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she pulled herself together and began walking up the path to the house. 

Den rose from her spot in the sun, her tail wagging. She barked a few times, going down the steps, then waiting for Winry. Dropping her kit and her bag, Winry fell to her knees and hugged her dog tight. Den licked her cheeks and chin, whining in delight, her tail wagging so hard, it propelled her hind end around. 

The door opened, and Pinako stood framed in it, pipe in her mouth, and smoke haloing around her head. Her glasses glinted and bared her teeth in a tremendous smile. 

“Granny!” Winry let go of Den to climb up the stairs and hug her grandmother. 

Pinako thumped her back in greeting. “Welcome home, girl.”


	9. Chapter Eight

_As the archeology of our thought easily shows, man is an invention of recent date. And one perhaps nearing its end._   
**Michel Foucault**

Edward wondered if this was how a piece of steel felt, being shaped by an ironworker. His head pounded like a hammer on an anvil. Unable to work up enough saliva in his mouth to swallow, Edward thought the desert had to be baking him dry. Opening his eyes, he couldn’t recognize what lay above him. The desert sky could be bleached almost white from the heat, but something kept moving around. He jerked a hand up, waving at the side of his face, like shooing a fly. 

“Ed?” 

Was that his name? Edward turned his head, slowly and carefully, spotting a shape. It wavered and blurred, splitting into two and three parts before joining back together. “Hnn.” 

“Ed.” 

It was his name. Maybe. Sounded like someone was shouting it in a full rain barrel. Winry? No, that wasn’t Winry. His wife was a helluva lot prettier than the blurry thing standing over him. “Nn?”

The blob said something to Edward. He cocked his head slightly, trying to figure out what was being said. The blob’s mouth seemed like a cavern, with teeth like stalactites and stalagmites. Edward winced at the rank, cold stench drifting out of the cave. Words flew out of it like bats. He ducked under the bats, waving his hands at them to scare them off. They shrieked and dived at him, claws extended, fangs gleaming. Venom dripped out of their mouths, sizzling when it hit anywhere near Edward. Some of the liquid splashed on his skin, burning like acid. 

Edward flung himself to the ground, trying to rub the venom off on the grass. Smoke from the acid clogged his nose, making him cough. His throat stung and burned; his eyes watered. Fangs stabbed into his back and shoulders, more poison flooding his circulatory system. Gritting his teeth, Edward tried not to scream. He rolled from side to side, as if trying to put out a fire burning him, the acid eating into his clothes, biting into his flesh. 

“Edward!” 

The sound of his name echoed in his skull. It seemed to cut into his brain, made his head pound. Edward clenched his hands, pressing them against his skull, trying to keep it from splitting apart. The monster’s cavernous maw, so like Gluttony’s, opened wide. Edward clapped his hands together, remember when nothing happened, his alchemy was long gone. He screamed as the mouth snapped shut on him, leaving him in total agony and blackness.

X X X

Trying to hold Edward down was like attempt to contain a wildcat. Marcoh lost his grip on Edward’s wrists twice in less than ten seconds. Davir moved to help him, making Edward scream when he leaned across the young man’s midsection. He struggled harder for a few seconds, then collapsed back against the cot, sweat pouring out of his body. 

“We need to get his temperature down,” Marcoh said tightly. 

“We have alcohol,” Davir said, lifting himself off of Edward when it didn’t seem he was going to have another fit. “But we might need to tie them down to keep them from hurting themselves.” The bruise on Davir’s cheek said more – that the Elrics were strong and unaware of what they were doing under the influence of this fever. 

“Get the alcohol, and I’ll restrain them.” Marcoh wasn’t sure exactly how he could tie the brothers down, but there had to be a way. He adjusted his mask; blotted his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt as Davir slipped outside of the tent. Edging around Edward’s cot, he carefully stepped over the debris littering the tent floor; dirty towels, a couple of buckets, some papers, to reach Alphonse. Perspiration made his skin oily, but his eyes were open, though hooded. “Alphonse, I need to take your temperature,” Marcoh told him, brandishing a thermometer. “Can you understand me?”

Alphonse let out a soft sigh, his head lolling to the side, his mouth opening. Marcoh took that as a ‘yes’, shaking the mercury in the thermometer down and inserting it under Alphonse’s tongue. “Don’t bite it,” he warned, gently wiping Alphonse’s face. 

“‘Kay,” Alphonse mumbled. He lay still for a little bit, blinking occasionally as Marcoh checked his pulse. It ran fast under Marcoh’s fingertip. “Don’t feel good,” Alphonse said as Marcoh laid his arm back on the cot. “Headache.” 

That information didn’t help at all. There were too many conditions that could cause those symptoms, easily over a hundred. At this point, the best he could do was keep the boys comfortable and try to get their fevers to break. He’d fed them aspirin and water when they were coherent, had wiped their bodies down with the towels currently on the floor, but even in twenty-four hours, he could see a difference in the appearance of the two young men. 

Edward’s thick hair had gone brittle, and his skin resembled paper. Alphonse’s flesh sank in on his body. The fever consumed them, burning them up from the inside. Without a lab, Marcoh couldn’t do a work-up to find out what was causing the issues. He pulled the thermometer from Alphonse’s slack mouth, frowning at what he saw. “Alphonse, Al. Wake up, please.”

His eyes drifted open again, as if his lashes had locked them closed, and he had to fight to break them free. “Hnn,” he sighed, sounding remarkably like his brother. 

“Do you understand me, Al?” Marcoh asked, leaning over the younger man. 

“Mm.” He tried to moisten his lips. “Thirsty.” 

“Can you take some aspirin?” 

Alphonse blinked, and Marcoh took it as an agreement. He poured another glass of water, helping the younger man sit up so he could drink it. A pair of aspirins dropped onto the young man’s tongue and Marcoh tilted the cup to spill water into his mouth. Alphonse swallowed reflexively, groaning. “Throat,” he moaned. 

“Drink a little more, Al, and I’ll let you lie down again.” Pleased Alphonse followed his instructions, Marcoh eased him back onto the cot. The cup went to a nearby crate being used for a side table, and Marcoh prodded Alphonse’s throat, checking his throat. Alphonse grimaced at the prodding, batting weakly at Marcoh’s hand. “Ow,” he whined. 

“Your lymph nodes are swollen, Al.” 

He blinked at Marcoh. “Hurts,” he mumbled, and turned onto his side, pulling his blanket a little more tightly around him. 

Marcoh helped arrange it, smoothing the fabric over the young man. “You rest,” he said, patting Alphonse’s shoulder. 

Davir came back in, mask in place, a ceramic crock tucked under his arm. “Alcohol,” he said. His gaze fell on Alphonse, and he raised an eyebrow. 

“He’s fine,” Marcoh said. “And Ed’s,” unconscious, he thought, but said, “resting easily at the moment.” Remembering, he went to check Edward’s throat, too. “Al complained of a headache, and his lymph nodes are swollen.” Marcoh pressed his fingers along Edward’s jaw. He shifted, face pinching in reaction to the touch, obviously pained by Marcoh’s exploration. 

“It doesn’t mean they won’t become restless again.” Davir poured alcohol onto a rag and mopped Edward’s forehead with it. Edward’s expression smoothed somewhat under Davir’s care. “What do you think is wrong with them?”

Marcoh shook his head. “I don’t know. There are too many things that could be causing this. If we were in Central City, I’d have a better chance to figure it out.” A dream, as far away as a laboratory was concerned. 

Moving the damp cloth down over Edward’s neck and upper chest, Davir shook his head. “I don’t know if they will survive. If they are this ill, this quickly, whatever disease plagues them could destroy Balaghat.” 

“But no one else has gotten sick,” Marcoh argued. 

Davir leaned back to look at him across Edward’s body. “We don’t even know how this is spread. The incubation period. We don’t know anything about what’s wrong with them, except that whatever it is, it’s hitting them hard.” 

“We’re not even sick.” 

“We’ve been taking precautions.” Davir wiped Edward’s face, cleaning the perspiration away again. “You’re a skilled doctor; I’m a healer. We know what to do to keep from carrying diseases away from our patients.” He pointed at his mask, then at the alcohol, which could be used for sterilization. “And how to keep from getting them.” 

“We need to talk to the people who’ve been closest to these boys, find out what they know. If anyone else is sick.” Marcoh nodded at Davir. “Why don’t you do that, and I’ll take care of these two for a while?”

“We need someone else to take care of them. We’ll wear ourselves out, make ourselves vulnerable.” Davir handed Marcoh the crock and the rag he’d been using. “If either of us gets sick…”

Marcoh sighed. “I know, I know. We can’t let this illness out into the community, but we still need someone to relieve us and take care of these boys.” 

“I’m not sure who would volunteer to help us.”

“Simurgh, perhaps.” 

Davir’s eyebrows cocked up at that. “I suppose he might.” 

Marcoh didn’t offer what he already knew to be true – Simurgh believed he owed a debt to Edward’s wife, Winry. Taking care of the brothers would be something he would do to make good against that debt. “I will ask him.” 

“Just prepare him for what seems to be inevitable,” Davir said. 

The darkness in his colleague’s voice made Marcoh want to sigh. Instead, he patted Edward’s shin. “I’ll speak to Simurgh. Do you know who the Elrics were spending time with? Perhaps one of us should speak to them, too.”

“The children who tend the goats and sheep,” Davir said, frowning slightly above his mask. “Nesrah and her mother found the brothers like this, and her mother is one who frets over a sneeze. She would’ve come to me if Nesrah was ill. But I will talk to her, and the others. And rest,” he added, at Marcoh’s look. 

“Than you, Davir.” His smile faded as his companion left the tent. Turning back to the Elrics, Marcoh licked his lips absently. He picked up a medical chart he’d devised and began writing down the current symptoms. If their fevers didn’t break soon, he thought he’d need to notify a family member. 

 

X X X

The sound of a crowing rooster woke Winry abruptly, and, for a few seconds, she couldn’t remember where she was. The sun tried to force its light through the curtains covering a huge window, and Winry inhaled deeply, realizing she was in the room of her childhood. She rubbed her hand over her head, mussing her bangs. The clatter of metal downstairs let her know Granny was making some sort of breakfast on the stove, possibly scrambled eggs, or egg toast, or something that required eggs to be mixed in a bowl. Soon, Granny would be shouting up the stairs, telling her to get her butt to the table, or risk breakfast being thrown out. 

Winry smiled lopsidedly as she made her bed, smoothing out the wrinkles in the blanket. Her room was a little different than when she’d been a kid – some of Edward’s things had made their way onto the dresser, and some of the pictures he’d sent were tucked into the frame of the mirror. Her bed was no longer a single, now it was large enough to hold two. It’d felt empty last night without Edward next to her, but Winry’d been so tired, that feeling hadn’t kept her awake for long. 

A little while later, she dumped her bag at the front door, and headed into the kitchen, following the smell of frying eggs. “Morning, Granny.”

“Morning, girl.” Pinako nodded at her as she scraped eggs around in the skillet. “Breakfast’s almost ready, so you can set the table.”

Winry took out a pair of plates and utensils, setting them on the table. Her nose twitched at the scent of toasting bread, and she neatly avoided her grandmother to check in the oven. Four slices of bread were almost perfectly toasted gold, and Winry grabbed a towel to pull the oven rack out to get to the bread. Her mouth watered and she swallowed, pulling a bottle of milk and the butter from the ice box. The slab of pale yellow butter still bore the imprint from the Nedobeck’s farm, unnicked, in the center. 

“There’s pear butter in the pantry,” Pinako told her, and Winry turned on the ball of her bare foot, padding over to peer into shadowy recesses. Fruit preserves were always kept on the left, whole tomatoes included, while beans, potatoes, and tomato sauce were shelved straight ahead. Winry peered at the glass jars, and grabbed one, turning it to see the paper label on the top – _Pears_. Grinning, she took it to the counter, washing off the jar before she fished out the can opener, using it to pop open the lid. 

Pinako stirred eggs, then turned her attention to the potatoes and links of sausage in the second skillet. “Coming off the fire.” She hauled the skillet to the table, setting it on a block of wood that had been used as a hot pad for as long as Winry could remember. “Get the eggs, girl!”

Grabbing a towel, Winry wrapped it around the cast iron handle, levering it off the fire. She turned off the eye, the gas making a low, ‘whump’ sound as the flame extinguished. Sliding the skillet onto another block of wood, Winry settled into her chair as Pinako started ladling food onto their plates. 

“You’ll need a good breakfast if you’re traveling with those traders.” 

“You think it’s a bad idea.”

“What I think doesn’t matter. You’re a big girl.” But her eyes glinted behind the lenses of her glasses. 

“You still hate it.” Winry sighed. 

“Well, I don’t hate that you’re going to be with Ed, I guess, but you just got your certificate. Don’t you think you should be working on your business?” 

Winry cut her sausage links into bite-sized pieces before answering. “If I wait, Granny, I might not be able to go. If – when I get pregnant, I won’t be able to travel, and that’ll take time out of making automail, too. Besides, I got everything done before I left – and I don’t even know if Ed and I will be staying in Rush Valley. He really doesn’t like it there, and I don’t want to make him stay somewhere he’s not comfortable.” 

“So, where are you going to set up shop? Here?” Pinako forked a potato into her mouth. 

Smiling, Winry said, “You’re still all the doctor or automail mechanic anyone needs in Risembool, Granny.” 

“But I’m not going to be around forever.” She wagged her fork at Winry. “Do I need to take another apprentice? Because if I do, I need to get started looking for one, now.”

That would be a decision she’d have to make with Edward’s input, Winry knew. While he loved Risembool, there was even less for him here than in Rush Valley, aside from a lot of memories that weren’t necessarily good. “I don’t know.” It was the best answer she could give. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to do that anyway, would it? You should share your knowledge!” 

“That’s not really answering my question, girl,” Pinako told her sourly. 

Winry spread her hands. “I can’t answer that right now. It’s not just my decision, it’s Ed’s, too.”

Pinako glared at her, but it didn’t really have any heat to it. “You two were always the most stubborn children.” 

Grinning, Winry said, “We learned from the best, Granny.” Spearing some sausage, she popped it into her mouth, chewing slowly. It’d been a long time since she’d had this treat – sausage made from a local butcher, with a recipe that had been handed down for generations. She nearly giggled, mentally saying the last in Major – no, Lieutenant Colonel – Armstrong’s voice. 

“Hmph.” Pinako swallowed some of the smoky-smelling tea she liked that Alphonse had found in Xing. “Well, promise me you will talk about it with Ed.”

“Of course, Granny.” There were a lot of things to consider. Winry could see her grandmother had aged, and might need someone to help her and be ready to take over the business if something happened. _Nothing will_ , she told herself fiercely, even though she knew life – and death – happened without warning. “I promise, Ed and I will talk about it, and we’ll let you know our decision.” She wondered whether Alphonse might be interested in moving back to Risembool. If he would, even for a little while, it might be for the best. If he wasn’t here for Granny when she…when the inevitable happened, Winry knew it’d kill him. 

“And while you’re talking to him about that, talk to him about my great-grandchildren.” 

“Granny!” 

“Don’t act so scandalized, girl. I already spoke to Ed about it.” 

Winry had no doubt she had, and probably embarrassed Edward plenty. For all his foul language, he could really be a prude at times. “You made him blush, didn’t you?”

Her grandmother smiled broadly, an answer enough, but she went on. “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him – I want to hold my great-grandchildren while I can enjoy them.”

“Fine, fine.” Winry rolled her eyes as she finished off her eggs – probably gathered fresh this morning from the hens in the yard. “Thanks for breakfast, Granny.” Gathering her plate and mug, she took them to the sink to rinse them out. 

Pinako sighed through her teeth. “Well. I suppose you should get on the road so you can go talk to the merchants.” Peering over the rims of her glasses, she asked, “You’re sure of this?”

“Absolutely,” Winry said. “Granny, just so you know.” She picked up her mug and swallowed what was left in it. “I want to go to Xing.” Before Pinako could say anything, Winry barged on. “We’ll be so close…and I know Ling would love to see Ed.” 

“Are you asking my permission or are you telling me?” 

She shrugged, smiling crookedly. “Telling you. We might not be back from the desert for a while.” 

“You know, starting a business means you need to be available to work,” Pinako reminded her.

“And this might be my only chance to get to Xing!” Winry hugged Pinako, hard. “I’ll bring you home lots of souvenirs.” 

Pinako hugged her back, but pushed Winry away after a few seconds. “Don’t you need to get on the road?”

She glanced up at the clock, her eyes widening. “Yes! I’ll see you, Granny!” Grabbing her bag off the floor, Winry ran for the door, hesitating just outside it to give Den a hug, too. “Be a good dog,” she said, and kissed the top of her domed head before leaping off the porch and running toward town. 

X X X


	10. Chapter Nine

_The best prophet of the future is the past_.  
 **Lord George Gordon Byron**

Marcoh ran a hand over his hair, thinking that there probably was far more grey in it than when he’d arrived in Balaghat. Settling the hat back on his head, he began walking again, leaning heavily on the staff that Simurgh had found for him from one of the shepherd kids. Ahead of him, he could see a low cloud of dust as the goats moved up the hill ahead of him, the kids keeping them more or less contained. 

“Are you all right?” 

He smiled. “Yes, old friend, I’m fine.” 

Simurgh gave him a long, flat look, and began walking next to him. “It is harder to breathe up here.”

“The atmosphere is thinner.” 

“Let me know if we need to stop.” 

While it was nice to have someone worried about him, Marcoh wanted to keep moving, even if he did so at a far slower pace than the children – and livestock – ahead of them. And while walking was better than riding, he had to ask, “It won’t be much longer, will it?” 

“We are about half-way up at this point.” Simurgh hesitated, tilting his head back and shading his eyes. “There is a spring a little farther up the trail, and we will all stop there for a rest.”

Marcoh wasn’t about to argue, and when the spring came into sight, he sighed in relief. He rested next to the spring, drinking deeply of its sweet, slightly metallic-tasting water. Goats drank next to him, or nibbled the grass around the spring, but the children herded them off after a few minutes. “It’s very peaceful here.”

“It is,” Simurgh agreed.

He glanced sideways at his friend. “But you don’t like it here.” 

Simurgh stared out over the desert. When he spoke, his voice was distant. “This is a dangerous place. There have been stories told about it since before I was a child. My grandfather knew of this mountain, and warned us to not climb it. There are…” his mouth tightened slightly, “ _ahrimin_ on the mountain.” 

“I don’t know that word.” 

He glanced toward Marcoh, then away again. “Ghosts…demons.”

Marcoh dabbled his fingers in the water. “ _Efrits_?” 

Shaking his head, Simurgh said, “Not quite so evil. Still, not Ishbalan.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.” 

“The people who made this mountain were very powerful. They were insular, and protective of their land. Grandfather said, even after they went away, they left their guardians in place. They’re still here now, according to legend. It is said to be safe as long as the sun is up, but once the sun begins to set, remaining on the mountain is hazardous.” 

“And Alphonse has been excavating up here,” Marcoh said thoughtfully. “How does that make your people feel?” 

Simurgh seemed faintly uncomfortable with the question. “He is not Ishbalan, and not subject to our tenants, save as our guest. His interest in the city has some of the people disturbed, but others feel it is time for the city’s secrets to come to light, regardless of the outcome.” 

“And the outcome could be death?” 

“The mountain folk didn’t chase away their enemies,” Simurgh said. “They had no need to do so. People,” Marcoh knew by his inflection that Simurgh meant ‘Ishbalans’, “knew better than to approach. Their death doesn’t mean that something isn’t watching for intruders.” 

“Something,” Marcoh repeated. “Something what?” 

Mouth tightening, Simurgh tilted his head back to study the city looming over them. Finally, reluctantly, he said, “I am not sure, but there is something there.” 

“But the kids – the children, and their goats – they all seem fine.” 

“Maybe it doesn’t see children as a threat.” 

Marcoh couldn’t help but smile, though he tried to hide it. “You make it sound as if it’s a living being up there.”

Frowning in return, Simurgh got to his feet. “It is not a place I ever thought I would be visiting,” he said, his voice so low, Marcoh almost didn’t hear him. He offered Marcoh a hand, and Marcoh accepted his assistance, scrabbling to his feet. “If we are going to continue up the mountain, we should catch up to the children.” 

“Yes, of course.” Marcoh nodded, deciding not to comment that Simurgh hadn’t answered his question. Stretching his arms and back, he thumped his staff into the ground a few times. “Lead on, Simurgh. I’m ready if you are.” 

X X X

The hall was white, always white, with two sets of black doors. Alphonse sat between them, waiting for either of them to open. Edward had come through once, and yelled at him, and promised to come back and get him. And he’d seen his soul, trapped in the suit of armor, though, each time, it had disappeared back through the door almost as soon as he’d realized it was there. And he saw the Truth. 

It watched him, somehow, without eyes, a huge smile on its white face. It almost seemed like a white shadow, if such a thing could exist. It rarely spoke; only a very few times that Alphonse could remember. He wasn’t sure what he’d talk to it about, though. It didn’t seem like the type of being to engage in conversation; more like it would stare holes right through him and chuckle while doing it. 

Alphonse wrapped his arms around his knees, drawing them up. A cold breeze drifted along up his naked spine, making him shiver. His skin prickled and he turned to his left, seeing the doors start to open. His eyes widened and his mouth stretched into an unfamiliar smile as he spotted a flash of gold. “Brother!”

The door spat out a figure, covered in those black, ribbon-like arms that retreated almost as soon Edward hit the floor. Alphonse couldn’t stand, couldn’t even make a move toward him, but he stretched out a hand. “Brother, Ed!” 

He gasped and stirred, head coming up, and red coated one side of his face. His chin was stained with it, dripping down to puddle onto the floor. Edward’s eyes focused briefly on Alphonse. “Al,” he rasped. 

“Ed!” His heart skipped. What was wrong? “Ed, what’s…what…”

“Sorry, Al.” Trying to smile, Edward failed. Instead, he attempted to pull himself to his feet, managing to get to his knees. Alphonse sucked in a breath, shuddering. Blood covered most of Edward’s chest, a gaping hole showing through that stupid red coat he’d always worn. “I thought I’d be able,” he coughed, spitting blood. 

“Ed,” Alphonse groaned. No, no, it wasn’t supposed to be like this. 

“Sor,” Edward wiped his mouth, “ry, little broth…” Eyes rolling back in his head, he pitched forward, blood spurting out from under his body and splattering everything. 

“Ed!” Alphonse gasped. “Ed, no!” He scrabbled in his bed, realizing it had been a dream, a particularly nasty dream. Shuddering, he tried to sit up, falling back with a groan. His head pounded so hard, he thought it would split in pieces. 

“Shh, Alphonse.” A damp cloth passed over his face. 

He sighed at the faint relief if offered. “Is…Ed all right?” When an answer didn’t come immediately, he forced his eyes open. He wasn’t sure he recognized the man sitting next to him. “Is he?” Alphonse grabbed for the man’s wrist. 

“He’s in the same condition you are,” came the answer, which didn’t really tell him anything. “He is resting now.”

Alphonse hoped Edward wasn’t having the same horrid dreams he was. “I’m thirsty.” 

“You may have some water.” The man pressed a clay cup against Alphonse’s lips, and he sipped it. The water tasted flat, and warm, but it moistened his mouth. He swallowed frantically, craving more and whining when the man pulled the cup away. “You cannot have a lot at once.” 

Alphonse tried to grab the cup, but his hands wouldn’t move. He tried to turn his head and eyes enough to see wriggling fingers, but his joints felt like they were made of rubber. Controlling them seemed beyond his abilities. The sunlight overhead beat down through the canvas of the tent roof, making his eyes ache. He wished he could pull his arm up over them. “More, please.”

“I am sorry, Alphonse.” Davir. The Balaghat healer. Alphonse recognized him, if nothing else, by the tone of his voice. A little nasal. Always sounding like he was a bit annoyed, though he cared for his patients in a way that would make Pinako pleased. “You need to,” his voice turned to gibberish, or Ishbalan, or, for all Alphonse knew, it might’ve been Drachman. 

He blinked, and blinked again, but it didn’t stop Davir from changing. His reddish skin darkened more, changing to a black that swallowed all light. A split went straight down his torso, opening up to a bulging red eye. “The Gate,” Alphonse whispered, sweat breaking out all over his body. “No…” The eye twitched and turned, focusing on him, and he froze, ice filling his belly. “No!” 

X X X 

Nesrah perched at the edge of the hole that they’d pulled Mr. Alphonse and Mr. Edward out of just a few days before. The dust had settled, and sunbeams brightened part of the cave-in, though not enough to see too well what was in there. She could see a thing that looked like a body made of stone, and a lot of rubble. Fresh dirt and some grass could be seen, and a butterfly flitted around down there, its wings suddenly flaring with a brilliant flutter of color as it lit on a dying flower. 

“Be careful, Nesrah,” Dr. Marcoh told her. 

She nodded, scooting back a little bit. 

Simurgh squatted next to her and peered down into the hole. “What can you tell us about this, Nesrah?”

Nose wrinkling, she hunched in on herself a little bit. “We heard a rumble, and the ground shook. And we came to see what it was. Mr. Alphonse and Mr. Edward were in the hole. Near that.” She pointed at the stone body. “When we found them.” 

Dr. Marcoh shaded his eyes to peer at the thing. “What is that? A crypt?”

Next to her, Simurgh let out a weird sound. Nesrah glanced up at him, but she couldn’t read his face. “It could be, at that.” He took the bag from around his shoulders, pulling out a rope. Walking around the pit, he pushed and pulled at the trees. Nesrah watched as he tied off the rope to the same tree they’d used to help pull the Elric brothers out of the hole. Dropping the rope down into it, Simurgh spat on his hands. 

“Remember your scarf,” Dr. Marcoh said. 

Simurgh nodded, pulling something up over his mouth before he used the rope to slide down into the hole. Nesrah lay down flat on the ground so she could get a better look. The sun didn’t light up the hole’s interior much, and she couldn’t see what Simurgh was doing. 

“Nesrah, please move further back,” Dr. Marcoh said. 

Rolling her eyes, she squirmed a little bit, hoping that was okay. Her curiosity nearly sent her wriggling back up to the edge, but she waited, even if the grass tickled her ankles and the dirt smell made her want to sneeze. 

Appearing out of the shadows, Simurgh brushed his shoulders. He made his way to the stone body. “Do you see this, Doctor?”

“It’s an effigy, isn’t it?”

“It resembles Fullmetal’s father.” 

Who? Nesrah wondered, craning her head more. Dr. Marcoh made a funny sound, and she rolled halfway over to look up at him. 

“That’s impossible!” 

“Fullmetal and his father have a very distinctive look,” Simurgh was saying. “This,” he waved his hand at the stone body, “resembles them greatly.”

“I wonder how that could even happen.” 

“It is a curious thing.” His voice faded as he moved away from the stone body. 

Nesrah tried to edge a little closer to the edge of the hole, but a tug at her tunic made her stop. Hiding her grimace from Dr. Marcoh, she scooted back when he pulled at her again. The grass tickled her ankles again and she wriggled her feet in silent protest, wondering if sand fleas could live in grass. “Do you see anything else, Simurgh?” Dr. Marcoh called. 

Simurgh didn’t answer at first, then finally said, “No, nothing that seems important. Nothing that should’ve made those two boys this sick.” 

“How sick are they?” Nesrah clapped a hand over her mouth, surprised she’d even asked. But now that she had, she wanted to know the answer, and twisted her body to look up at Dr. Marcoh. His melted skin made it hard to read his face, but she thought his eyes looked sad. 

“Very sick, Nesrah,” he said. “Come away from the pit. Simurgh will be back up in a few minutes.”

Nesrah pushed up onto her hands and knees and backed away from the edge of the hole. “Mr. Alphonse will be all right, though? He and Mr. Edward?” She scrambled up to her feet, dusting the front of her robes. 

“I hope so.” Patting her on the shoulder, Dr. Marcoh moved her even farther away, and they waited for Simurgh to come up out of the hole. 

There had to be more to it than hope, Nesrah thought, clenching her fists. If only she could figure out what it was. 

X X X

Winry’s eyes snapped open and she clutched the blankets tighter against her chest. Her breath came in short pants and she sat up, shivering at the colder air curling around her back. Wrapping the blanket more tightly around her, she swallowed, trying to remember her dream. Scar, and Ed, and that torn-up street where she’d first learned who’d killed her parents. Winry pressed her fingers to her mouth, swallowing again. Her nightmare – a recurring one – had the same ending as always – Scar touching Edward’s forehead, Edward’s body exploding. It’d been almost a year since the last time she’d had that particular dream, but it always left her drained and unable to sleep. 

Reaching down, she grabbed her boots, shaking them carefully to make sure nothing had crawled into them during her sleep. Winry pulled them on, wrapping the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, and left her tent. 

A fire flickered off to her right, but Winry didn’t walk toward it, just standing under the night sky. Her eyes widened at the sight of the stars over head. Even Rush Valley didn’t have so many stars. A part of her could hear Edward lecturing in her head as to why the desert sky was so heavily populated with stars, but he’d drone on and on if she let him, so she’d tuned him out. Something about atmosphere and cloud cover, Winry remembered that much. Whatever it was, the sky took her by surprise. It almost made her forget the cold draft spinning around her legs and sliding up her spine. The colors of the desert were lost under the sky, silvered by the light of the moon. Winry hugged herself, taking it all in, slowly turning in place in an attempt to try to see everything, the entire sky. 

Dumb, she thought, but she couldn’t stop doing it anyway. The stars, so many of them! The sheer, rich, deep color of the sky, itself. Her mouth dropped open and she sighed in wonderment, at least until another gust of wind blew against her, nearly snatching her blanket away. 

Shivering, Winry tightened her grip on it, and, with one last lingering look up, she went back into her tent. Maybe now, with the stars so firmly in her mind, she’d be able to go back to sleep, and forget her nightmares of Edward, and death. 

X X X


	11. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**  
 _So forget any ideas you've got about lost cities, exotic travel, and digging up the world. We do not follow maps to buried treasure, and 'X' never, ever marks the spot._   
**Dr. Henry “Indiana” Jones, Jr.**

Davir stretched his arms, washing his face with tepid water. He didn’t want to walk back into that tent and see those young men, wasting away. It shocked and amazed him how quickly their bodies had atrophied. They had been healthy just a week ago, and now, they were pitiful wrecks. Alphonse was lost, unconscious for the most part, though he’d woken up yesterday, begging for his mother. Edward still wavered between wakefulness and oblivion, having sometimes been even coherent enough to ask what was wrong, if they could cure it, but that lucidity had ended nearly twenty-four hours ago. 

He thought, maybe, they had a few more days, and that was giving them the benefit of hope. Dr. Marcoh had insisted a courier be sent to Roy Mustang, of the desert command, to notify the Elrics’ family. It would be too late for any of them to make it to Balaghat to see these boys before their deaths, but the family deserved to know. 

Hearing the soft, sonorous sound of the morning bell calling people to prayer, Davir finished washing his hands and joined his people, his family, his life. The sun rose, painting the desert in shades of rose, orange, and gold, chasing away the deep purple shadows of the night. Davir unrolled a small rug and knelt upon it, turning his attention to the priest standing on the temple steps. Her voice rang out, almost as rich and deep as the morning bell as she led everyone in the morning prayers. 

Davir’s throat vibrated as he responded to the priest’s questions. When the prayers were over, he rose to his feet, gently shaking his rug to release some of the desert sand before rolling it up again. Making his way to the temple steps, he bowed his head to the priest. “Mother,” he said, using the traditional honorific for a priestess, “I’ve come to ask for your assistance.” 

“Yes, son, what do you need?” Her face, wreathed in wrinkles, warmed as she smiled. 

“You know I have been taking care of the two Amestrian boys,” Davir said, “I would like for you to perform their last rites.” 

She descended the steps, taking Davir’s elbow. “They’re still alive, aren’t they, son?”

Davir took a breath. “They are dying,” he said, bluntly. “There is no hope for them.” 

As she squeezed his elbow, she leaned her head against his shoulder. “There is always hope in Ishbala’s eyes. Go, and give them some of that hope.” With another smile, she released his arm and walked away, leaving Davir to his own thoughts.

X X X

The ground shook under his feet, and Edward spread his arms to keep his balance. Heat saturated the air, making him wonder why in hell he’d decided to take a walk up onto an active volcano. 

“Ah, Fullmetal.” 

Gasping, Edward spun, nearly stumbling on the heated stone. Arms flailing to stay upright, he spotted the man in white, who smiled as he removed his hat in greeting. “Kimblee,” he hissed, trying to get over his shock. 

“We never finished our battle, did we?” Kimblee twirled the hat between his hands before setting it on his crown again. 

“I’m not going to fight you, Kimblee!” Edward tried to remember why this seemed so wrong. 

Kimblee coughed, and a fleck of ruby red appeared in his mouth. Edward bit back a yell, recognizing that glimmer for what it was: not blood, but a Philosopher’s Stone. Kimblee held the stone between his teeth, letting the heat of the volcano hit the shard, making it bleed crimson light. 

“No way in hell,” Edward spat. 

“If you fall down the mouth of a volcano, I don’t think you’ll come back,” Kimblee said around the stone. 

Shit. Shit! Edward crouched, trying to keep his balance against the rumbles of the mountain. The vapors clogged his nostrils, poisoning his lungs. “Yeah? Maybe it’ll be you who doesn’t come back!” 

Kimblee wagged an admonishing finger. “Brave words for a man who proclaimed his will to keep from killing.” Before Edward could react, Kimblee clapped his hands together. 

“The hell?” Edward screamed, flinging himself sideways. Kimblee transmuted the fucking _air._ There couldn’t be enough minerals in it – but the air swung again, a nearly-invisible club, directed by Kimblee’s transmutation and the Philosopher’s Stone. The club shattered the shell of ground near Edward’s feet. He lunged while he still had support, rushing Kimblee. The man didn’t believe in close combat, and he raised his hands to activate his transmutation circles again. 

Edward screamed a curse, dropping to his hands and snapping his feet up into Kimblee’s face. The man jerked his chin back, but Edward’s boot clipped his chest. Kimblee staggered. Edward cartwheeled up, using the momentum to punch Kimblee in the gut. 

He couldn’t withdraw his fist. Edward grunted, trying to pull it free. His hand, all the way up to his forearm, stuck inside Kimblee. “What the hell?”

Kimblee’s smile went impossibly wide, and his eyes went beyond bloodshot and into violet. His skin took on an oily sheen, with more eyes popping out of his body. “You’re mine, Fullmetal Alchemist,” he said, his voice echoing in Edward’s skull. 

“No!” Edward kicked Kimblee’s knee, squawking when the black skin swallowed up his boot. “Fuck!” 

The eyes all turned to him, and that mouth widened even more in a lascivious smile. “As you wish.” 

Edward jerked his foot out of his boot, reaching up into that maw to grab the pulsing Philosopher’s Stone and yanking it free. “Damn it, Kimblee!” The stone beat in his hand like a heart. Heat and pain rushed through his arm, igniting it like the volcano’s fire. Edward gritted his teeth and punched Kimblee again, managing to touch his hands together inside the other alchemist. 

Kimblee exploded. His scream ripped through Edward’s skull. The resulting explosion flung Edward backward, right onto the lip of the volcano’s mouth. Windmilling his arms, he fought to stay upright as the heat licked up against his ass. 

A gust of hot air boiled up from the volcano, and Edward lost his precarious balance. “Shit!” he screamed, tumbling down into the bubbling lava below. 

X X X

Winry dismounted, thinking there had to be a better way to travel across the desert than riding animals. Her horse snorted at her, splattering her with snot and slobbers, and Winry made a face, backing up, wiping her face on her sleeve. Maybe cars with wide tires? It was something to think about while Edward and Alphonse were doing whatever it was with that alchemy circle. 

As she shouldered her bag, Winry noticed the caravan guide talking to the people taking the horses away. Mr. Lung gestured at her, and Winry waved in response, walking over to join him. He’d be able to tell her who she should ask about finding her boys. The woman with him spoke something in what Winry recognized as the Ishbalan tongue, and she thought she really should try to learn some of it. “Mr. Lung, hi.” She ducked her head to him in greeting. 

“Miss Winrii.” He inclined his upper body to her, but the expression on his face gave her pause. “Please, come with me.” 

“Does she know where Ed and Al are?” Winry glanced at the woman as Mr. Lung took her arm, guiding her out of the corral. 

“Yes, Miss Winrii, everyone knows where your husband and your brother are.” He led her to a low wall, and turned her away from it. “Please, sit down.” 

Winry obeyed, chewing her lower lip. She dropped her bag next to her feet, folding the strap between her fingers. Intent on Mr. Lung, everything else seemed to fade away. Something happened, she knew it. Her heartbeat sped up, and Winry felt like she couldn’t get enough air. “Where are they, Mr. Lung?” 

“I am sorry,” he said, taking her hands, stilling them from twisting around the luggage strap. “Your husband and brother, they are very ill. We arrived in time for you to see them, but.” He shook his head, his mouth turning down. “I am afraid they will not be leaving Balaghat.” 

All the sounds, the heat, the smells, everything rushed back in, like dam breaking in a river. Black spots flickered in her sight, and Winry sucked in air, pulling free of Mr. Lung so she could lean forward. She put her head between her knees, trying to stay conscious, fighting with her body for control. The black spots swarmed in the corners of her eyes, almost darkening her sight. Winry forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply, to concentrate on the little patch of dirt between her spread feet. Finally, her vision cleared, and she sat up. Her stomach churned and Winry swallowed hard. “I’m all right,” she said, squeezing Mr. Lung’s hands. A lie, but what else could she say? 

Mr. Lung studied her, searching her eyes. His chin dipped, and he rubbed her fingers. “No,” he said, “you are not. But I will take you to them.” He kept hold of her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm before picking up her bag. 

Walking through the desert town, Winry glanced around, realizing people watched her. She almost wished she’d worn a scarf to keep the sun off her head. It would detract from her differences, though Winry thought she’d still stand out. The way the people looked away when she tried to meet their eyes made her feel even more alone. Mr. Lung tightened his elbow on her fingers, as if he realized what she was thinking. 

The path through the buildings wound its way to a newer area; the adobe buildings making way for tents, semi-permanent structures, Winry thought, with the way they were built. Some were decorated elaborately, and a part of her wanted to admire the brilliant colors and extravagant art. Instead, she kept walking, as if by rote, the way narrowing down to a thin path in front of her eyes. 

Mr. Lung stopped, making Winry stumble. He dropped her bag to catch her, keeping her upright, but everything swung for a few seconds, until Winry patted his forearm. “Miss Winrii, are you sure you are well?”

She nodded, turning away from him. A tent sat alone, the remains of other tents surrounding it like ghosts. A foul odor emanated from it, a miasmic cloud. Winry winced as a dry breeze swirled the stench toward her. She knew that smell. Once, a customer had come to see her grandmother with a badly-damaged automail port. He’d barely made it there, and Granny’d wound up taking off more of his leg. The sickly-sweet stench had made Winry throw up, back then. This time, she couldn’t. “I want to see them.” 

“The healers will have to agree,” Mr. Lung told her. 

She wanted to scream, to throw herself at the tent. Her mind whirled, but Winry didn’t speak for a few seconds. When she did, her voice barely quivered. “They are my family. I need to see them.” 

Mr. Lung frowned, looking from her to the tent. “Wait here.” He let go of Winry to walk a little closer, raising his voice. Winry wondered at how the Ishbalan language reminded her of water rushing over rocks, when the people were of the desert. Had they originally come from a water-rich region? Shaking her head to clear it of the thoughts buzzing her like flies, Winry saw the door of the tent open, and a man came out, closing the door behind him. 

The medical mask marked him, and Winry squinted, a part of her recognizing him by the way he moved, more than anything. With his face turned partially away, she couldn’t be sure, but her mouth opened, and she called, “Dr. Marcoh?” before the connection could be made. 

He started, turning to her, pulling away the mask and leaving the tent and Mr. Lung to come to her. “Winry? How did you get here so fast?”

“What?” She didn’t understand the question. So fast? She’d been traveling through the desert for days, now. 

Dr. Marcoh hesitated before touching her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, dear.” 

Her question seemed to come from someone else. “What’s wrong with them?” Winry almost felt like she watched herself at a distance. Clinically, she knew she was becoming detached to be able to cope with this news. Somewhere, deep inside, she screamed and wailed, but aside from the tremor running through her arms, she remained outwardly calm. 

“They’re sick. I wish I could tell you more.” The wrinkles in his face deepened. “They were fine one day, the next day.” He spread his hands. “I am deeply sorry, Winry.” 

She took a deep breath, air whistling through her nostrils. “How long?”

Dr. Marcoh glanced away from her, and then back. “Maybe a few days.” 

“I need to see them.” Winry clenched her hands into fists. 

He lowered his eyes. “All right. But they might be contagious. You can’t go in unprotected.” 

Winry nodded jerkily. 

“Gloves, mask, clothes that you can remove immediately afterward and won’t wear again until they can be disinfected.” Dr. Marcoh ticked off each item in his list on his fingers.

She nodded again, understanding. She couldn’t take a contagion out and infect anyone else. It was something Pinako hammered into her head as a child – always wash before and after tending a patient. Always wear a mask. Always wear gloves. Be careful. Be careful. Be care – “When can I see them?” 

Dr. Marcoh touched her shoulder lightly. “I’ll get you a mask and some gloves. You can get changed in my tent, if you’d like.” 

“Thank you,” Winry said. She remembered, and turned to Mr. Lung. “Thank you, too, sir.” 

“We will be here for a few days, Miss Winrii,” Mr. Lung said, his expression troubled. “If you need me, for anything, do not hesitate to ask.” 

She bowed her head to him, saying her thanks again, and then turned to follow Dr. Marcoh to his tent. 

X X X 

Simurgh took his turn sitting with the Elric brothers. The tent stank of bodily fluids and illness, and the cloth over his mouth and nose offered little respite. Alphonse lay listless on his cot, skin sunken over his bones. Sweat rolled down his skin, soaking the light blanket. Edward was in little better shape, though, sometimes, his eyes would open, like they did now. Simurgh bent over him. “Can you drink, Edward Elric?”

He blinked, and his reddened eyes focused for a second, then went dim. “Gon’ makir cry,” he mumbled. 

“What?” Simurgh reached for a cup of water, hoping he could get some into Edward. “Can you drink something?”

His hand stirred, touching the blanket, moving up over his blanket and plucking at it. “So hot.”

“It is very hot,” Simurgh agreed, “and you should drink something.” 

“Hnn.” Edward’s eyes drifted closed again. 

Simurgh hesitated, barely daring to breathe until he saw the younger man’s chest rising with a slow inhalation. Closing his eyes, Simurgh offered up a prayer to Ishbala. He dribbled a bit of the water onto Edward’s skin, trying to cool him down. 

“Simurgh,” Dr. Marcoh called outside the tent. “We’re coming in.” 

He turned toward the door, surprised when a slim figure came into the tent with Dr. Marcoh. “Miss,” he gasped, recognizing those blue eyes above the mask covering her mouth and nose. 

Winry hesitated just inside the tent, her gaze meeting his for a split second. He couldn’t read her eyes, not in that flash. Her attention turned back to the young men on the cots. There wasn’t much room, with the Elric brothers’ personal items strewn about, not to mention the items necessary to take care of them. Simurgh shifted back toward the table, giving her space. Winry drifted to Alphonse’s bed, a faint sound escaping her. Her fingers, wrapped in cloth gloves, hovered over Alphonse’s forehead before she touched him, stroking his cheek. “Oh, Al,” she whispered. She leaned over him, close enough to make Dr. Marcoh clear his throat. The sound made her flinch. Murmuring something Simurgh couldn’t understand, Winry turned from the younger brother. Her chin came up and her eyes remained dry as she passed Simurgh to reach Edward Elric’s cot. 

Strain showed on his face, as if he still fought whatever made him and his brother so ill. Winry didn’t fall down to her knees, though her body trembled, as if swept by a harsh wind. Simurgh wanted to turn away, to give her a semblance of privacy, but the young woman captivated him with her words. 

“You dummy,” Winry scolded, only the faintest quaver marring her voice. “What sort of trouble did you get yourself into this time? I thought you were over this kind of thing! And you dragged Al into it, too! Geeze, and now look at you! You’re skin and bones and Al looks worse than when you brought him home. What were you doing? You were supposed to just research that stupid circle. Not - not this!” She waved a hand at him. “You jerk. I came all the way from Rush Valley to spend time with you, and you’re laid up like this!” Pausing to take a breath, Winry seemed about to speak again, though nothing came out at first. She tried again, and this time, her words cracked and shivered, making them all but indecipherable. “Remember. You made me a promise.” 

Dr. Marcoh came up behind her, laying his hands on her shoulders. “Come along, Winry,” he said. “You need to rest.” 

She shook her head violently, some of her hair freeing itself from the ties of her mask. “No! I’m here, I’m going to take care of them. I’ve done it before.” 

“Not like this,” Simurgh said, drawing her ire. He straightened his shoulders against that fierce glare. “It is difficult taking care of someone you love when they are in this condition.” 

“I don’t care.” Winry’s chin jerked up. “I’m here, and I’m taking care of them.” She gently pulled out from under Dr. Marcoh’s hands. “You two, you should get some rest. Just tell me what you’ve been doing, so I can keep doing it.” 

He expected nothing less from the young woman. Simurgh sighed, exchanging a look with Dr. Marcoh. He nodded. “All right, child. It’s your decision.” Reluctance gave way to grudging respect. “We haven’t really been able to do much for them. Try to keep them comfortable. Get water or broth into them, when they are able to drink. 

Winry nodded. 

“Your husband woke briefly,” Simurgh said, wondering if he should actually tell her that, then deciding if he was in Winry’s position, he would want to know. “He wasn’t coherent, though.” 

“What did he say?” Dr. Marcoh might’ve asked first, but Simurgh couldn’t be sure. His voice carried better than Winry’s. 

“He complained of the heat.” The rest of it had made little sense to Simurgh. 

“It is hot in here.” Winry sighed, dropping her head, so her chin almost rested on her chest. She brushed some of the sticky hair off of Edward’s forehead. “I need to remove his leg. He’s using up energy he could use to heal, fighting to keep it powered. And the heat from it just transfers back to his body.” 

“I’ll get your tool kit,” Dr. Marcoh said, and Winry nodded. 

As he started to leave, Winry asked, “Do you know what caused this?” 

Dr. Marcoh’s shoulders slumped. “No, Winry, I’m sorry. If we did, we might be able to figure out how to cure them. A crevasse opened under their feet, up in the mountain. The children said Alphonse sprained his ankle, and both he and Edward were coughing, but that might’ve been from the dirt they inhaled.” His fingers rested on the canvas door. “The next morning, when the children came to check on them, they were like this.” 

“And how long ago was that?” Winry asked. She studied Alphonse almost dispassionately. 

“It was before our arrival,” Dr. Marcoh glanced at Simurgh, who nodded. “We were asked to attend them by Davir, the local healer. But we’ve been here almost a week.” 

“And no one else has any symptoms?” Winry’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Even if you’ve taken all precautions, neither of you have had any problems?”

“No,” Dr. Marcoh said slowly, “not even the children. They’ve been going up the mountain daily…if the boys picked up something in the ancient city, at least one of the kids should’ve shown some symptoms.” He rubbed his chin, the cloth of his glove scraping over his stubble. “But they haven’t been in the crevasse the Elrics fell into. There may be something in there.” He wagged a finger at Simurgh. “He went down there.” 

“I breathed through a mask, and the dust had settled by then,” Simurgh said. “That may have had something to do with it.” 

Winry nodded absently as she paced between the small space between the two cots. “There has to be something we’re missing, though.”

Dr. Marcoh said quietly, “If I had my Philosopher’s Stone, this would be easier.” 

Winry’s head came up sharply at that. “You had a stone?” Her forehead furrowed. “I didn’t know that.” 

Simurgh cracked his knuckles, remembering how Dr. Marcoh had acquired that Philosopher’s Stone. It still rankled that he could do nothing for those who died, but his people were safe now, as were the people of Amestris. The Elric brothers, and Dr. Marcoh, had a large part of making sure it had never happened again. 

“Yes, but I don’t bring it into Ishbalan lands.” Dr. Marcoh sighed, glancing toward Simurgh. 

Her eyes widened, and then closed halfway. “Yeah, I understand.” During their time traveling together in the mountains, she’d heard more about Amestris’s past, and the Ishbalan War than perhaps she really wanted to. Winry stopped pacing, folding her arms. “All right,” she murmured. “Thank you, both.” She made a shooing motion at them. “Go on, go get some rest. I’ll be fine.” When Simurgh raised his eyebrows, a silent question, she nodded. “This is where I should be.” 

There was no way to argue with that. Simurgh followed Dr. Marcoh out of the tent. The sun seemed too bright after the dim lighting of the tent, and Simurgh blinked at how clean it felt outside. 

“I wish there was something more we could do,” Dr. Marcoh murmured beside him. 

Simurgh laid his hand on Dr. Marcoh’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “We can be here for her,” he said. 

“I don’t know if that’ll be enough.” 

X X X 

Winry managed to get a little water in Alphonse, and wiped his forehead dry. He looked thinner than she’d ever seen. Maybe this was how he’d looked when Edward brought him back from that place where his body had been. Winry stroked his hair, clotted with perspiration and oils. Thinking Alphonse would hate if he knew how he was now, dirty and gross, Winry wished she had some way of cleaning him up. Mr. Lung had told her how the Ishbalans kept clean with oil, and she couldn’t begin to understand how to wash hair that way. Granny’d talked about using talc powder to clean oil out of hair before, but Winry didn’t think even a whole bottle of it would dry out Alphonse’s hair at this point.

Edward was just as bad, maybe worse, as he’d been wallowing around on his long hair. Winry thought maybe it would have to be cut, though he’d bitch and moan about it. “Ed?” She rubbed his chest, the heat boiling out of his body almost enough to burn her hand. The fever should’ve burned itself out by now, Winry was sure of it. She paced in the tiny aisle, pinching her chin. These boys were strong. So why was it still eating them alive? That no one else had any symptoms bothered her, too. Why would that be? Something this awful ought to be contagious. 

Edward mentioned the transmutation circle before he left Rush Valley. Could it have been what caused this sickness? Frowning, Winry tried to find Edward’s notes. He wouldn’t have let them get very far, even in his sickness. Whether anyone taking care of Alphonse and him would’ve realized what they were, Winry wasn’t sure. She squatted down on the canvas floor, resting her fingers on it, peering under both cots, and finally spotted a piece of paper, pushed up against the tent wall. Leaning down, Winry reached under Edward’s cot, managing to snag the piece of paper with her fingertips. Pulling it to her, Winry smoothed it on her thigh. 

Her eyes dampened at the words: 

_Dear Winry, I miss you._

X X X


End file.
